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Copyright N°_ W cL. 

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSKh 






















A WARNING TO WIVES 



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MAXINE MARLING 





A WARNING 
TO WIVES 

by 

HESTER E. HOSFORD 



1924 

THE STRATFORD CO., Publishers 
Boston, Massachusetts 










Copyright, 1924 

The STRATFORD CO., Publishers 


/ 


Boston, Mass. 


The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 

JAN 12’24/ Q 

©Cl A? 00792 O- 

'Vi Q /y 


DEDICATED TO 
MY MOTHER 

























ZNjDte 

The reader will note that Mount Olympic is sym¬ 
bolical of one of the largest, most representative 
Cities of the Great Northwest. 








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Contents 


Chapter Page 

I Introducing the Richard Radcliffes ... 1 

II Their Early Married Life.10 

III Richard Radcliffe’s First Case in the West . 34 

IV A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter . . 44 

V Their Fifth Anniversary.73 

VI Their New Home.106 

VII The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves’ . 124 

VIII Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself . . . 153 

IX Richard and Maxine.180 

X The Vital Question.236 

XI The Parting.253 

XII Eleanor Tries to Win Back Richard’s Affections 269 

XIII Maxine in France.290 

XIV Henry Strong.308 

XV Getting Better Acquainted.322 

XVI A Mental Recreator and Ambition Accelerator 332 

XVII Maxine Outwits Her Rival.346 

XVIII The Inspiration.360 

XIX The Great Adventures of Life . . . .372 

XX Home Again.393 

XXI Separated Pals.411 

XXII The Dilemma.424 

XXIII The Vision.441 








CHAPTER I 


Introducing the Richard Radcliffes 

D INNER is now being served! Dining car forward!” 
shouted the dusky despot, as he passed through the 
Pullman car Montevideo, attached to an express train, which 
had just left Washington, D. C., for Chicago, on a late after¬ 
noon in June, 1902. 

4 ‘Shall we go to dinner now?” queried Richard Rad- 
clrffe, addressing his pretty, young wife, who readily assented 
by rising and going with her husband through the Pullman 
to the dining-car. 

As the couple took their seats at the table, there was a 
broad smile on the good-natured face of the black man, 
who came to take their order for dinner, when he observed 
on the back of the young man’s collar a little confetti, which 
had evidently very recently adhered thereto. 

As the beaming son of Africa handed the menu card to 
the young woman, she remarked: / 

“I believe I will have lamb chops. Let’s see, you don’t 
like lamb chops, do you? I had forgotten for the moment 
that you did not care for them. Well, I believe I will have 
them anyway.” 

The tone of uncertainty in the young wife’s question 
only served to confirm the waiter’s well-grounded suspicions, 
— for as a matter pf fact, Richard Radcliffe and Eleanor 
Fairchild Radcliffe had been married that very afternoon, 

[1] 


A Warning to Wives 


at the home of the bride’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Livingston 
Fairchild in Hampshire Avenue, Washington, D. C. 

At the very time when young Radcliffe and his bride, 
were speeding along in the fast train, enjoying their meal in 
the dining car, the bride’s mother was presiding over her 
own dinner table, remarking to her husband, who sat 
opposite to her: 

‘ 4 Well, they are married and gone!” 

And as she did so, Elizabeth Fairchild breathed a sigh 
of regret, mingled with semi-satisfaction; for what mother, 
who has four marriageable daughters, ;and who is honest 
with herself, can claim immunity from an over-powering 
sense of gratification, when one of them leads off success¬ 
fully in the matrimonial procession? 

Livingston Fairchild ate slowly and deliberated much, 
before commenting on his wife’s remark. Then he said: 

“ Marriage is a mighty serious business. An innocent 
young girl reposes all her trust in the one man in the world 
whom she idealizes. She commends her whole future into 
the keeping of the man whom she regards as the worthiest 
of all men. When she is young and fair, she relies upon her 
youth and beauty to sustain the interest and affection of her 
mate. Danger often lurks about when a young bride neglects 
to develop the mental resources within herself and depends 
too much upon her mere physical charms for the perpetua¬ 
tion of the great epoch of romance in her life. 

“Some one, I believe it was Ruskin, said: ‘True mar¬ 
riage, when it is marriage at all, — is only the seal which 
marks the vowed transition of temporary into untiring 
service and of fitful into eternal love. ’ 

“Few young people have the vision to comprehend the 
fullness of responsibility involved in marriage. Most of 

[ 2 ] 


Introducing the Richard Radcliffes 

them are so full of the spontaneity and energy of youth that 
they expect too much at the beginning. They do not nur¬ 
ture the flower of romance with the delicacy which it requires 
in order to yield a full bloom. One fails to understand the 
sensitiveness of the other and the result is disaster. 

“Eleanor, for instance, is a very sensitive girl, and if I 
am not greatly mistaken, Richard is equally sensitive, in his 
way. He has much feeling coupled with his tremendous 
energy. If he were differently constituted, he could not 
have achieved so great a degree of success so early in life. 
I entertain no fears, however, as to his business and profes¬ 
sional future. He is a mighty level-headed young man,” 
said Livingston Fairchild, in emphatic tones. 

And there could be no denying by those who knew young 
Radcliffe that his conservative, forceful father-in-law had 
spoken the truth; for, as Richard Radcliffe departed from 
Washington he was leaving behind him an excellent record 
as a successful young attorney, who had practised law for 
the past three years in the Capital city. 

Young Radcliffe had received the degree of Bachelor of 
Laws just three years before from the University of Indiana, 
in his native state. 

During his entire professional career, he had been the 
junior partner in his older brother’s office, but toward the 
termination of the third year, Richard had decided that he 
would strike out for himself. 

He believed that his future would be best assured by 
locating in one of the largest, most rapidly growing cities 
on the Pacific Coast. He knew that he had not yet struck 
his stride in his profession and felt sure that he never would 
if he continued in his brother’s firm, where the burden of the 
office fell upon him, while his older brother was making a 

[3] 


A Warning to Wives 

legal reputation and handsome income, relying for much 
of his success upon the hard work and personal popularity 
of Richard Radcliffe. 

The latter was known to those of the legal fraternity as 
an able young trial lawyer, while his older brother's judicial 
temperament expressed itself in his analytical and academic 
ability, which had won for him an enviable prestige for a 
man of thirty-five. 

Richard, who was eight years younger than his brother, 
won the confidence of his clients, from the moment that he 
began to prepare a case. He used the same kind of skill in 
such proceedings as a clever playwright employs when he 
creates a dramatic situation and develops his plan or plot, by 
introducing the right character at exactly the right time, — 
with the proper lines and a perfect psychological grasp of 
the immediate circumstance. 

Richard Radcliffe would arrange to call his witnesses in 
a case in such order that the testimony of the second witness 
would not only strengthen that of the first, wherever possi¬ 
ble, but would prepare the way for the third and fourth, and 
so on, — to build up a connected and logical story of evi¬ 
dence so well put together that it required the most accurate 
legal knowledge and subtle art in professional practice to 
refute or break down the testimony as established. Since the 
desirable acquirements of technical, legal skill and the power 
of convincing argument are so seldom found to be combined, 
to any great degree, in any one practitioner at the bar, the 
young attorney who is so fortunate as to find himself 
equipped with both these extraordinary qualifications, soon 
excels his competitor lawyers in the race for outstanding 
success. 

And so it happened when Richard Radcliffe in his first 


[ 4 ] 


Introducing the Richard Radcliffes 

case in Washington, D. C., took it upon himself to break the 
will of an extremely eccentric but wealthy old man, who 
had left his deserving widow poorly provided for, — he won 
his case, because he built up a sequence in the testimony of 
his client’s witnesses, which proved to the court conclusively 
the erratic tendencies and unbecoming conduct of the de¬ 
ceased husband, climaxed by his inexcusable treatment of 
his devoted wife. 

Such continuity of purpose, as applied to other cases, 
had won for young Radcliffe a certain unique distinction, 
which justified him in assuming, thus early in his professional 
experience, that he could practise law successfully without 
a partner. If, in later years, he decided to form a partnership, 
he would be in a position to act as the senior member himself 
and to select a suitable aspiring junior partner. 

For the present he would launch out for himself, — and 
he would take Eleanor with him to the far west. 

She had been ready and willing to go ever since she 
had been able to read in Richard’s kindly deep blue eyes, 
the language of protector and defender, — as well as the 
assurance of his undivided and whole-hearted affection. 

Eleanor Fairchild had always felt a sense of security in 
Richard’s friendship, even before they were avowed lovers. 
He had inspired her confidence just as he had won the 
abiding faith and loyalty of his clients. 

And now that they were married and Eleanor leaned 
her slender form on the strong right arm of Richard Rad¬ 
cliffe’s tall, manly figure, and kissed his smooth shaven, 
florid cheek, as they were about to leave the Fairchild home 
that afternoon, she had no desire to take a round trip ticket 
with her on her transcontinental journey; — not even later 
in the day when the dining car waiter tipped off some of the 

[5] 


A Warning to Wives 


other passengers to the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Richard 
Radcliffe were bride and groom. This incident resulted in 
considerable embarrassment for both Eleanor and Richard; 
— especially Eleanor, who was very self-conscious. 

Her pretty, dimpled face had been covered with blushes, 
when she observed that two travelling salesmen in the dining 
car were looking at her with fixed gaze, and exchanging 
remarks which seemed to afford them much amusement. 

Eleanor was so obviously annoyed at this occurrence that 
Richard did not finish his dessert and the pair made their 
way to the back platform of the train, only to find that the 
word had already been passed along ahead of them to the 
passengers in the observation car. As soon as Richard de¬ 
tected the true situation, he led the way, and the couple 
retired to their drawing-room. 

The confidence of Eleanor Fairchild and her exacting 
parents had been well placed, when she accepted young 
Radcliffe’s proposal, with both her father’s and mother’s 
consent; — for Richard was as high-minded as he had been 
successful. 

“You know, Livingston, you always did like to theorize 
and philosophize on marriage. You always revel in flowery 
discourses on the subject of matrimony. I«think that 
Eleanor and Richard will get along all right,” Elizabeth 
Fairchild had said to her husband, when he had concluded 
his extemporaneous dissertation on the seriousness of mar¬ 
riage and its problems. 

Eleanor Fairchild, the present Mrs. Richard Radcliffe, 
came of a family whose conduct was governed by precision, 
regularity and method in all things. They ate their break¬ 
fast at seven A. M., week days and nine A. M., Sundays, with¬ 
out varying as much as three minutes from the established 


[ 6 ] 


Introducing the Richard Radcliffes 

routine, in more than twenty years. They dined promptly 
at six thirty in the evening for the same number of years. 
All the members of the Fairchild family had been brought up 
according to schedule. Their records for punctuality, in all 
their activities, could not have been beaten by the Empire 
State Express or the Twentieth Century Limited. 

The Fairchilds were earnest students of their traditions, 
too, but unlike many others of their kind, who boast of a 
long line of worthy ancestors, they tried to live up to their 
traditions and not on them. Before they moved from 
Philadelphia to Washington, D. C., they had always voted,— 
that is the men of the family had always voted the same 
ticket as had their grandfathers. They ate many of the 
dishes prepared, so far as possible, as their grandmothers 
had prepared them. Even the bureau drawers of their house¬ 
hold were arranged in much the same manner as were those 
of their methodical and orderly grandparents. 

Everywhere in the Fairchild home were evidences of 
system and painstaking regularity. While this all gave an 
impression of neatness and order, at the same time there 
was communicated to the atmosphere of the home a certain 
stilted uniformity, which detracted from the sense of freedom 
and spirit of naturalness which is always a part of all real 
homes. 

For instance, there was no place where a man could put 
his feet, except on the floor, in the event that he wanted to 
rest himself leisurely and recliningly while he read the even¬ 
ing paper, — and as to smoking, this was permitted only on 
the back porch. There was no place where Howard or 
Frank or James Fairchild could stretch themselves unless 
they went upstairs to their rooms. 

There was never an occasion at home when the boys 


m 


A Warning to Wives 


could tell a story with the least flavor of unconventionality 
and then release their surplus energy in healthy, boyish 
laughter. There was never a time when the boys felt free 
to go to the butler’s pantry or the refrigerator and help 
themselves to knick-knacks or sweet-meats. 

Whenever amusement or entertainment was provided 
for the youngsters, it was according to form and formula. 
All stage performances, and the like, were passed upon by 
the senior members of the household, and a selected list 
prepared by them before the juniors were permitted the 
privilege of attending these places of diversion. Of course, 
every now and then, the juniors broke away from these 
restrictions unbeknowm to their parents, or the older mem¬ 
bers of the family. 

The Fairchilds frowned upon the course adopted by their 
neighbors, the Stimsons, who apparently gave their children 
a freedom of choice in the selection of their amusements by 
discussing with them the different kinds of plays and con¬ 
sciously directing the juniors to choose the best of their own 
free wills. It was the same way with music and reading 
matter. The Stimsons permitted their children to believe 
that they were choosing their own standards and forming 
their own tastes, when in reality the parents themselves 
were directing their children as pointedly as were the Fair¬ 
childs, but evidently, with much less effort and greater effect. 

Eleanor Fairchild Radcliffe represented the highest type 
of feminine Fairchild. She was thoroughly Fairchild from 
the roots of her long, straight, black hair, to the tips of her 
elongated, sinewy, nervous fingers. She was a trim, neat, 
attractive girl, —good to look upon. She was petite, in fact, 
very slight of build, with regularity of features, and calm, 
gray, penetrating eyes, the expression of which would have 
indicated to a close observer, a degree of innate coldness. 

[ 8 ] 


Introducing the Richard Radcliffes 

The only feature which had a tendency to mar her 
beauty was her nose; — this lineament of her face was 
slightly inclined to be Aquiline in form, and bespoke an 
inherited feature from the conventional Fairchilds, more 
clearly than any other of her facial characteristics. 

And at twenty-two she had married Richard Radcliffe, 
and come out West with him, to the City of Mount Olympic, 
where her energetic and ambitious young husband had 
planned to engage upon his business and professional career. 

“We’ll rent a modest house somewhere. If we like it, 
we’ll buy it later, or perhaps, build a house of our own. 

“I still have left a thousand dollars in travellers’ 
cheques. I figure that this amount ought to furnish our 
house, without using any of the bank draft of two thousand 
dollars, which I brought along for deposit in a savings bank, 
and which will have to stand between us and starvation, 
until I can rustle around and get some clients,” suggested 
Richard to Eleanor, the first morning after their arrival in 
the Western city, where they were about to establish their 
home. 

“Oh! I’m sure that a thousand dollars will be plenty 
for furnishing a very cozy dwelling. Just think of all the 
boxes and trunks of wedding presents which we have,” 
replied Eleanor. 


[ 9 ] 


CHAPTER II 


Their Early Married Life 

W HEN they began house-keeping, their little home, 
situated on one of the side hills of the city, was the 
essence of neatness. There were window boxes, with a 
border of gay tulips and sweet lavender. There were ferns 
and herbs that followed the line of the house wall. These 
surrounded the cottage, which was a white-washed, brick 
structure, with a curved roof line. The lawn was carefully 
green-swarded, with a freshness of verdure which indicated 
constant care. 

The house was as attractive inside, in its furnishings and 
decorations, as it was in its floral surroundings, lawn and 
garden, on the outside. 

The living-room was in Early American style. There 
was a table, a Duncan Phyffe model of mahogany. The 
davenport was upholstered in rich, brocaded, wistaria velvet. 
The frame was of birch, with a mahogany finish. There were 
some Vassar chairs in mulberry velour, and a few Stratford 
Windsor chairs, with saddle seats. On the tea-table was an 
English pottery set, ornamented with a design of field 
flowers and blackberries. There were two or three antique 
paintings, which Eleanor had brought from her old home. 
The window curtains were of heavy, peach colored silk, 
while the windows were framed in blue and mulberry toile de 
jouy. The draperies and curtains were Eleanorown handi- 

[ 10 ] 


Their Early Married Life 

work. The wistaria velvet rug harmonized with these 
decorations. 

There was a small breakfast-room, combined with a sun- 
porch. The floor of this room was a fascinating checker¬ 
board of black and white blocks. The rug in front of the 
fire-place was a composition of squares of the same size as 
those of which the floor was made. There was a close 
association of design between the floor and the rug, which 
bespoke the Fairchild care and precision in the process of 
selection. 

The dining-room was furnished in mahoganized birch. 
The wall panels were of the same kind of wood, which cov¬ 
ered about two-thirds of the wall space. Above these panels 
was an artistic frieze,— an ornamental, deep band, which 
represented a forest of birch trees, interspersed by open 
spaces of landscape. The buffet and china closets were well 
filled with cut glass, silver, and hand-painted china-ware, — 
the most of which had been presented to Eleanor at the time 
of her wedding. She had brought West with her, the con¬ 
tents of her hope chest, which she had been preparing since 
her boarding-school days. Not content with its equipment, 
she continued to add to its store. Soon after she went to 
house-keeping, she had made a luncheon set, consisting of a 
dozen oblong place-mats and a table-runner on cream hand- 
woven linen, in a new and effective design of needle point 
and embroidery. She had bought some old jars and vases 
at a second-hand store. These she had transformed into 
lamp-stands and then made the shades of pieces of ancient 
tapestries, which had come down to her from the past. She 
had fitted out a cream crackle lamp, with a parchment shade, 
and she had made some other lamp shades of orchid colored, 

[ 11 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

crepe, which she had placed over the electric light bulbs in 
the dining-room. 

Eleanor had taught herself to apply paint materials so 
as to secure artistic, enamelled and stained effects on both 
hard and soft wood, with the result that the floors in the 
Radcliffe cottage bore an appearance which could not be 
distinguished from that of the floors in houses where the 
highest grade building materials had been used. 

Altogether, Eleanor had made the interior of her bridal 
nest most artistic and attractive. 

All her efforts greatly pleased Richard, who was an 
appreciative soul, with a big, warm heart, and an innate 
liking for all things beautiful. Indeed, he had indicated this 
clearly when he chose his wife. From day to day, it seemed 
to Richard that Eleanor became increasingly resourceful in 
her ability to create artistic touches here and there, which 
added to the attractiveness of their home. 

When he arrived at their cottage in the evening, he 
was prone to observe all the little things which Eleanor had 
done to beautify their place of peace. Not only would he 
notice these things, but he would remark upon them with a 
keenness of appreciation which greatly pleased his pretty 
young bride. 

“You have more artistic skill in transforming barren, 
unfurnished rooms into paradisiacal spots than anyone else 
whom I have ever known. 

“I could not have believed before you started in, that 
you could make a house so attractive with so little outlay 
of money. You possess positive genius as a home builder. 

“Some day I hope to have money enough to build just 
the kind of house which will do justice to your decorative 
talents. You ought to have a better back-ground, — a more 

[ 12 ] 


Their Early Married Life 

elaborate setting for the exercise of your artistic ability/’ 
exclaimed Richard, as he arrived home one evening, and sur¬ 
veyed with satisfaction the last touches of Eleanor’s handi¬ 
work in putting their house in order. 

That afternoon she had actually made a buffet from the 
material contained in an old cabinet which she had pur¬ 
chased for a small sum in a second-hand store. On the front 
of the top cupboard she had painted some sketches, which 
resembled very closely the best Italian workmanship. She 
had devoted considerable time to painting during her 
boarding-school days and the short years following. 

Eleanor really had a right to feel much pride in her 
artistic achievements. Her reproduction of an old Italian 
painted cabinet would have done credit to a much more 
experienced decorator. She had listened joyfully to 
Richard’s praise, which always fell in dulcet tones upon her 
ears. When he spoke of a better house, she only said: 

4 ‘I really don’t know whether I shall ever want a larger 
house. This little place keeps me very busy. I find plenty 
to do to keep it neat and attractive, ’ ’ and with this remark, 
Eleanor went to an old trunk, which she had brought with 
her from home, and took from it a pair of antique, brass 
candle-sticks and a small, marble statuette of Minerva, which 
she placed on top of the buffet, with the Italian goddess of 
the handicrafts in the center,— with a candle-stick on each 
side. 

“Well, here’s to the goddess. May the candles shed 
enough light on her benign countenance so that she will 
reflect the greatest wisdom in presiding over this modest 
household,” ejaculated Richard, as he took his seat at the 
dinner table. 

Richard was already for a bouncing, big dinner. At this 
[ 13 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


particular moment, he would have had more joy out of a 
nourishing roast of beef, with a few tempting side-dishes, 
climaxed by a little rich pastry, than anything else in the 
world. 

But in his delectable, gastronomic desires, he was 
doomed to disappointment, because his artistic wife had de¬ 
voted nearly all her time that day to the big buffet in the 
corner, with the result that she had prepared just a “picked 
up” supper of a few hashed brown potatoes, a little fried 
bacon, and some canned fruit. 

Richard ate sparingly, partly from necessity, because of 
the inadequate quantity and lack of variety of food, and 
partly, because he did not altogether relish that which was 
placed before him, for his young wife had proven herself, 
from the beginning of their house-keeping days, a better 
artist than she was a cook. 

In fact, the first dinner which she had served to Richard 
had been so badly spoiled, that she had made many apologies 
and then broken down in tears, while confessing to her much 
adored, young husband that the smell of food when cooking 
always had made her ill. 

On that occasion, Richard had been in very good humor, 
—kind and tolerant, and had said: 

“Never mind, I guess we shall be able to get enough 
to eat. We shall never be so foolish as to let a little matter 
like a spoiled dinner interfere with our happiness.” Then 
he had taken Eleanor in his arms, caressed her fondly, 
soothed her troubled spirits, and dismissed the unpleasant 
incident with such good grace that it faded away as did the 
vaporous outpouring from the tea-kettle, when it was taken 
from the stove. 

But this time, when the luke-warm, hashed brown 
[ 14 ] 


Their Early Married Life 

potatoes came on, with the bacon not very well done, and 
the coffee too heavy, Richard was not in such cheerful spirits 
as he had been on the evening of their first home cooked 
dinner. 

On this particular evening, Richard had come home, tired, 
hungry and depressed in spirits. They had been married 
about four months now. Richard was having an up-hill pull 
to secure clients and establish a practice. On this very day, 
a man on whom he had depended for a promised fee had dis¬ 
appointed him. He had worked under an unusually heavy 
strain for more than seven hours that day, preparing a brief 
for a case, which he was to try the following morning. 

“Hard work bears hard on the average pulse; 

Even with satisfactory results; 

And when results are scarce, the heavy strain 
Falls dead and solid on the heart and brain.’’ 

Often when mortals are bothered, they seek blame- 
timber, and light on some one else that they may give vent 
to their feelings. Sometimes this some one else is partly to 
blame, and sometimes not. In this instance, Richard Rad- 
cliffe was making a good many reservations of mind; but he 
had himself too well in hand to explode, as would many men 
have done under the same provocation, even though they had 
had the same training, which belonged to one of Richard 
Radcliffe’s birth and breeding. 

Richard merely said: 

“Tomorrow morning when I start for the office, I want 
you to put on your things and walk along a ways with me. 
I am going to see if I can’t help you to do your marketing. 
There are some good stores, — grocery and meat markets on 

[ 15 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


my way down, and I believe if we visit them together I can 
make yon understand something about what a hungry man’s 
appetite calls for. 

“You see, I’m a strong, healthy man and I need 
NOURISHMENT!” laughingly exclaimed Richard, while he 
playfully patted Eleanor on the cheek, raised her dimpled 
chin, and kissed her devotedly. 

“I know you are tired, after your tussle at carpenter 
work, — making that old buffet, but tomorrow, suppose you 
just get dinner and don’t try to make our house look like a 
place belonging to really moneyed folks. After awhile we 
shall be able to buy all these things without trying to make 
imitations,” consolingly remarked Richard. 

Eleanor concealed the peevishness which she felt, reply¬ 
ing: “All right. I’ll go with you to market. You know 
that during all this time, you have never told me, exactly, 
what you like to eat and don’t like. I do remember though, 
that you don’t like lamb chops. Perhaps, if I can find out 
what it is that you want, I shall be able to get it for you.” 

When morning dawned there was a drenching rain. It 
promised to be one of those days of a steady down-pour, as 
every cloud in sight was so heavy that it seemed to be 
saturated beyond the point of containing any more water. 

Richard protested, when Eleanor put on her rain-coat 
and arctics, and prepared to join him in the marketing 
expedition, which he had suggested the night before. 

“You’ll get soaking wet and there’s no sense in it. 
You’re likely to catch cold, too. You had a hard day yester¬ 
day and the chances are you’re still a little tired from over¬ 
exertion. Take off your things and stay at home. We’ll 
postpone this trip to the market until tomorrow morning,” 
said Richard, very much as though he meant it. 

[ 16 ] 


Their Early Married Life 

11 No, I want to go this morning. I feel perfectly well. 
I had a refreshing night’s sleep. I feel as chipper as the 
poet who wrote about ‘The golden dew of slumber as it lulls 
one soothingly into rest, and then awakens one with fresh 
vigor.’ I shall not mind the rain in the least; so let’s be off,” 
insisted Eleanor. 

“Well, if a woman wills, she will, I suppose,” exclaimed 
Richard, as he opened the door. 

The rain was coming down in sheets and the wind beat 
fiercely against Richard’s umbrella, when he attempted to 
raise it. 

“Holy Mackerel! This is too much,” ejaculated 
Richard. “If you still insist on going with me, I shall go 
back into the house and call a taxi.” 

“No, I hear a street car coming now. We shall be able 
to get it in the next block if we hurry, ’ ’ suggested Eleanor. 

It was all that Richard could do to hold the umbrella 
with both hands, until they reached the corner. Two of the 
stays were badly bent when he closed it and helped Eleanor 
aboard the car, which started suddenly and threw them both 
forward, with a jolt which landed them in a seat already 
occupied by a fat man who was attempting to read the 
morning newspaper. 

As soon as Richard could recover his balance, he took 
Eleanor by the arm, and the two were finally seated com¬ 
fortably, as the cars in this section of town, so remote from 
the center of the city’s activities, were never crowded. 

“I shall have to take my umbrella and have it re-covered. 
I see it is torn in two places. I am sorry about it, too, for 
it was presented to me by the members of my law-school 
fraternity, after I had served one year as its president,” re¬ 
marked Richard, as he commented, with appreciation, on the 

[ 17 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


skillful craftsmanship necessary to carry out the detail in the 
chased gold mounting of the handle, which was ornamented 
with a carved emblem in Greek letters, surrounded by 
Richard’s own name engraved in Old English. 

When the car stopped at the market on the way down 
town, Richard casually remarked: 

“Well, the umbrella is completely out of commission, so 
we shall have to make the best of the situation.’’ 

The storm had not abated and before Eleanor and 
Richard could get under cover, she said good-humoredly: 

“This must be the second flood, but in any event, we are 
here.” 

“First of all, let’s find some good potatoes for baking. 

“I believe I like good baked potatoes better than any 
other vegetable in the world. Here are some nice, smooth 
ones. They are very solid. I think these are just what we 
want,” suggested Richard, as he turned to the clerk and 
ordered him to send one-half bushel. 

“You always want to look for just that kind of a 
potato, — they are sure to be mealy and not watery. Now, 
let’s find some spinach and some asparagus,” concluded 
Richard. 

“Here they are over this way,” said the clerk, as he led 
his customers to the other side of the store. 

“You see, I used to help my mother do her marketing,” 
exclaimed Richard. “I was the youngest of her children 
and she always wanted me to go about with her. Now, that 
is fine asparagus, but the spinach is of an inferior quality,” 
commented Richard, as he pointed out to Eleanor the merits 
and defects of the goodly array of vegetables before them. 

Just at this instant, Richard’s eye fell upon some 
tempting artichokes. 


[ 18 ] 


Their Early Married Life 

“Did you just get these in this morning?” he queried of 
the clerk. 

“Yes, they came in this morning,” replied the ruddy 
faced Swede, who waited upon them. 

“But they are so high priced. It is out of all reason,” 
protested Eleanor. “Let’s wait until they get cheaper,” she 
suggested. 

“No. We’ll have them now. Some way I have confi¬ 
dence enough in myself to believe that it is not going to be 
necessary for us to limit ourselves on either the variety or 
the quantity of food required to furnish a good table. Send 
four artichokes. Now, let’s get some cheese. Have you any 
Gruyere cheese?” Richard questioned. 

“Yes, it’s eighty-five cents a box,” replied the clerk. 

“Eighty-five cents for that small quantity. Why, that 
is outrageous! Richard, how can you? Do stop ! If we start 
out living this way, we will surely end our days in the poor- 
house,” protested Eleanor. 

“I’ll take my chances. Now, let’s get some lemons. 
You know how to make a lemon meringue pie, don’t you?” 

“Yes, I think so. Anyway, I have a recipe book, which 
mother gave me when I left Washington. I have never tried 
making lemon pie yet, but I’ll promise to have one tonight 
when you come home.” 

Richard then gave the clerk an order for twenty-five 
pounds of sugar, one sack of bread flour, one sack of pastry 
flour, one pound of tea, one pound of coffee, and finally wound 
up by instructing the Swede to put in five pounds of beans. 

“Why Richard, have you gone crazy?” queried Eleanor. 
“We wouldn’t eat five pounds of beans in two years.” 

“Oh, yes, we will. When you get on one of your 

[ 19 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


artistic sprees, decorating and painting, just bake me some 
beans and Ill get along fine. Ill never starve if I have 
beans! You know I told you last night that I’m a strong, 
healthy man and I need NOURISHMENT,” laughingly con¬ 
cluded Richard, as he led the way out of the store, across the 
street to the meat market. 

“ There’s a good ham. It has much lean and just 
enough fat. It was well cured, too. Smoked just right. 
Send that ham,” Richard instructed the butcher. 

“Well, I don’t know what we’ll ever do with a whole 
ham,” said Eleanor, with a sigh. 

“Oh, well use it all right,” said Richard. “When you 
get absorbed with your fancy work and you don’t want to 
bother with a roast or any meat, which requires a long time 
to cook, just fry me some ham, cut thin and very well done,” 
remarked Richard. 

“Now, let’s see what you have in the finest Porter-house 
roasts,” suggested Richard. 

“That looks very good there. How much does that 
weigh?” queried Richard. 

“Five pounds,” answered the stocky butcher, as he ad¬ 
justed his scales and squinted his eyes, thus giving the 
impression of his desire to be extremely accurate in weighing 
his meats. 

“Very good. Send it,” said Richard. 

“Why, Richard, we can never use it,” said Eleanor. “A 
two pound roast is all that we can possibly manage,” she 
continued. 

“I’ll manage it all right,” said Richard. “Really, you 
know, you’re just beginning to get acquainted with my appe¬ 
tite. I’ve been holding myself in restraint all these months. 
I’ve been afraid until now to let you know how hungry I 

[ 20 ] 


Their Early Married Life 

really have been! I tell you, I’ve been using a lot of energy. 
It takes some gray matter to arrive in a town like this a total 
stranger and hustle around to get business and clients. I’ve 
worked like Hercules and I have an appetite like a Fiji 
Islander,” concluded Richard. “I am determined to go on, 
until like the heroic son of Jupiter, I shall achieve twelve 
great tasks, and with all my labors I am resolved, with a 
high resolve that knows no curbing, to get enough to eat,” 
concluded Richard. 

It was still storming, when they reached the street, and 
Richard, in spite of Eleanor’s vehement protests, hailed a 
taxi and sent her home. 

“You’ll need all your strength to cook that dinner to¬ 
night, without using any of it to walk home, combating this 
storm,” suggested Richard, good-naturedly, as he helped 
Eleanor into the taxi, kissed her goodbye and sent her on 
her way. 

Eleanor was simply dazed by the revelation which had 
come to her that morning. She had not realized before that 
she had failed, during her four months of married life, to 
cater to Richard’s desire for a good living; — for well- 
balanced, nourishing meals, with plenty of good, wholesome 
food, well cooked and well served. 

Surely now, Richard had made it plain enough that he 
wanted a better table provided. Eleanor was over-awed, not 
only by the kind and variety of food which Richard seemed 
to require, but by the quantity as well. Most of all, she was 
non-plussed by the obvious, prospective increase in their 
household expenses, and by Richard’s apparent tendency to 
extravagance;— for Eleanor had been reared carefully, and 
although the elder Fairchilds were moderately well-to-do, 
she had been trained always to be economical. 

[ 21 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Ever since she and Richard started housekeeping, she 
had figured closely on setting their table so as to make her 
household expenses as little as possible. 

She remembered that Richard had brought West with 
him about tw T o thousand dollars. This amount was over and 
above that which they had set aside to spend for furnishing 
their new home. 

Richard still had fifteen hundred dollars in the savings 
bank and he was already getting a start with his law prac¬ 
tice. 

Once inside the door of the Radcliffe cottage, Eleanor 
was determined that Richard should not be disappointed in 
the dinner which she would serve to him that evening. 

She began at once to make her preparations. She took 
the recipe book from the shelf in the cupboard, and perused 
it with diligence. She laid her plans for the construction of 
the lemon pie, as carefully as a great military genius would 
outline and construct the preliminary details for a great 
defensive campaign; and surely Eleanor was on the defen¬ 
sive now. She must defend her right to maintain her posi¬ 
tion, in its most strategic situation, as the wife of Richard 
Radcliffe, by demonstrating her ability to make his home all 
that he would have it. 

She wrestled with the roast of beef; the brown gravy; 
the baked potatoes; the asparagus, and the artichokes, until 
they were about to materialize in regular fashion on the 
dining-room table. 

She felt in her heart that her efforts had been crowned 
with success in every particular, except in the making of the 
lemon meringue pie. 

She knew that the filling of the pie was not thick enough, 
and that the meringue was neither fluffy enough nor deep 

[ 22 ] 


Their Early Married Life 


enough to please the fastidious and exacting tastes of her 
epicurean young husband. 

When Richard came home that evening, the aroma of the 
coffee and the roast beef greeted his olfactory senses. 

“By George, I’ll say that you got away with it this 
time. This is a rattling good dinner. You’ve done yourself 
credit, ” exclaimed Richard, after he had seated himself at 
the table and started in to do justice to the roast beef and 
baked potatoes. 

“Forewarned is forearmed, you know,” laughingly re¬ 
marked Eleanor. “I thought I might lose my happy home 
if I didn’t succeed in satisfying the wants of the inner man 
better than I have been doing,” she continued, half smiling. 

“Why, of course, I was only teasing you. I probably 
over-did it though,” responded Richard, good-humoredly. 

“That’s all right for you to say now that you were only 
teasing, but I’m just sure that you were in dead earnest for 
you looked so grave and serious when we were marketing this 
morning, and I’m sure the butcher must have thought that 
you had been starving for at least a month,” commented 
Eleanor, good-naturedly. 

“Well, I do appreciate good living. Nothing suits me 
better. You know my father, about whom I have told you 
so much, served in Congress from Indiana for many years, 
and we used to keep open house, — I might almost say, for 
all of his constituents for many miles around. He always 
wanted a good table. He used to say that to economize on 
articles of food was very poor business. He believed that 
eventually such economy would take heavy tolls from one’s 
health and spirits; decrease one’s usefulness and reduce one’s 
efficiency and earning power. He used to say, too, that, if 
one must economize it should be in other expenditures than 


[ 23 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

those of the table, which would lead to less serious conse¬ 
quences. 

“I just about idolized my father. I think he was the 
handsomest man whom I ever saw. He was six feet two 
inches tall, of excellent proportions, very dignified carriage, 
and gentle behavior. 

“Although I was not born until ten years after the close 
of the Civil War, I remember very well hearing my father tell 
about it. He was practising law in our town when the war 
broke out. He volunteered at the very beginning of the 
struggle and left mother and four children, that he might go 
to serve his country. There were several acres of land about 
our house and I remember my older brothers telling me that 
they had to get very busy even though they were very young, 
to help raise enough vegetables in the garden for the family 
to eat. Father left some money in the bank, of course, but 
mother had to be very saving; for no one knew how long the 
war might last, or what extremity would arise. 

“It was in 1866, a year after the war closed, that father 
was elected to Congress. This was nine years before I was 
born. Father was sent to Congress on his war record, for he 
had served as a Brigadier-General; had met Lincoln several 
times, and was counted among the President’s military ad¬ 
visers and closest friends. 

“He remained in Congress for fourteen years. I have a 
faint recollection of one of the visits which he made at home, 
just before his last term in Congress expired. I remember 
how he took me in his arms, when he came into the nursery 
and played with me and my rocking-horse. Then, too, I 
remember when he went away. I can see him now, waving 
his hand at mother, who stood in the window with me in her 
arms, and with all the other children on either side of her. 

[24] 


Their Early Married Life 

I can remember hearing her say that it was not nearly so sad 
a day for her as when my father went back to the war, after 
he had been home on a furlough in 1864. 

“Years afterward, when my father had retired from 
Congress and was at home with us, I was never able to pic¬ 
ture him as a distinguished General of the Civil War, or a 
prominent Member of Congress. I could only think of him 
as my play-mate and companion, — my father, not a General, 
who had told one man to go and another to come at his 
bidding. 

“As I grew up I can remember my father’s discoursing 
on the horrors of war with all its gruesomeness and woe. 
He used to say that wars of aggression and conquest, which 
only added to the dominions of countries, were the cruelest 
epochs in all history; because it did not matter whether a 
country comprised a few hundred square miles, more or less, 
but it did matter whether the people who lived in it loved 
their rulers with true loyalty and heart devotion. 

“Two of my father’s brothers fought on the side of the 
North with him, but one of them, who dwelt close to the 
Kentucky line, was rather inclined to be sympathetic to the 
South. However, this near Rebel sympathizer had his horses 
taken away from him,— conscripted for the Union Army. 
After the war was over he put in his claim against the 
Government to be reimbursed for the value of the horses. 
My father was in Congress at this time, but he was always so 
consistently loyal to President Lincoln and the Union; so 
full of practical patriotism, as well as National idealism, that 
he could not tolerate the idea of reimbursing for conscripted 
property, any American citizen, who had not been one hun¬ 
dred per cent loyal to the cause of the Union. He would not 
even make an exception of his own brother; and so, when my 

[25] 


A Warning to Wives 


uncle brought forth his claim my father challenged it, mak¬ 
ing an imperative demand of my uncle that he should first 
prove his absolute loyalty to the Union Government, during 
the war, before any consideration should be shown to his 
claim. 

“My uncle then dropped the matter, for he knew that it 
would embarrass him to have many of his statements con¬ 
cerning the war made public. 

“You might judge from this that my father was lacking 
in affection for his brother. On the contrary, my uncle had 
always been his favorite brother and it really grieved my 
father that his conscience forced him to take the stand which 
he did. 

“I am merely telling you of this incident, because I 
have always been proud of the fact that my father’s 
patriotism was so deep that it made all of his personal inter¬ 
ests subservient to his lofty principles. In fact, when father 
volunteered to serve his country, he knew that it would bring 
hardship to my mother and her brood of children; but she 
was as idealistic as he, and encouraged him to go forward. 

“In fact, the first thing I can remember clearly is a 
story which my mother told me when I was sitting by her 
knee. It was about my father’s going away to the war many 
years before, why he went; she tried to make it plain that 
it was because of his loyalty to the Great Spirit of Good 
which rules over all of us. Some way my childish mind 
seemed to grasp this; that there was Something outside of 
ourselves, Bigger than ourselves, always urging us to be 
better and to do better. I know, now, that my mother made 
me feel that it was right that my father had served in the war 
and that he had gone because he knew it was best for the 


[ 26 ] 


Their Early Married Life 

country and best for the loved ones whom he was leaving 
behind. 

“I remember, too, that when father was away from 
home, serving in Congress, mother used to take me in her 
arms, across the big living-room, and stand in front of my 
father’s picture, telling me as she did so : ‘I want you to grow 
up to be as good a man, just as true and loyal and honest as 
your father is.’ 

“This incident impressed itself indelibly on my plastic 
boyish mind and it has always served to keep me on my 
guard whenever principles or ideals are at stake. No matter 
what temptation might come to me, the memory of my 
father’s devotion to his country, and his sterling principles 
would always save me from playing recklessly or unscrupu¬ 
lously in the Game of Life. 

“I can understand, to some degree, the ancestor worship 
of many Oriental peoples; for instance, the Japanese 
Shintoism. They want to perpetuate all the merit of their 
fathers before them. That to me is a very worthy aspira¬ 
tion, worthy of the emulation of all people,” concluded 
Richard, while he made an attack with his fork on the lemon 
meringue pie. 

He had become so absorbed in eulogizing his deceased 
father; so much in earnest in praising the things for which 
his distinguished father had stood, that he was almost un¬ 
mindful of the defects of the constituents of the lemon pie. 

“I’m going to make a better pie the next time,” Eleanor 
remarked. “I’m not at all satisfied with this one,” she 
added. 

“Never mind. This is very good, indeed, for your first 
attempt. The rest of your dinner more than makes up for 
your not having the ‘bulge’ on the lemon pie. That’ll come 

[27] 


A Warning to Wives 


later. Tomorrow morning suppose you try your luck at a 
Spanish omelette.” 

“I don’t know how to make a Spanish omelette and I 
don’t believe I have any recipe for making one. I wouldn’t 
be afraid to try a plain omelette,” answered Eleanor. 

‘‘Didn’t you ever eat a Spanish omelette? Well then 
you don’t know what an omelette is. You just fix them with 
green peppers and dressing and tomato sauce on the inside. 
I’ll show you how. I’ve seen my mother make them. She 
was the finest cook who ever lived,” concluded Richard, with 
a far-away look in his eye. 

“Well, I knew it would come sooner or later. Mother 
told me to expect it. I’m surprised you haven’t said it be¬ 
fore,” said Eleanor. 

“Knew what would come? What do you mean?” 
queried Richard, in perplexed mood. 

“That you would tell me your mother was a better cook 
than I,” said Eleanor, while her lips trembled. 

Before Richard could get himself together to soothe 
Eleanor’s disturbed state of mind, she was in tears. 

“Well, I’ll be jiggered! I never thought of hurting 
your feelings. What did I say anyway?” 

“You said you would try to teach me to make a Spanish 
omelette like your mother used to make; and I don’t see how 
you can expect me, with my experience, to know how to 
make all these unusual dishes like a woman who knew how to 
cook all her life. I’ve done the best I know how and I don’t 
think you appreciate how hard I’ve worked this afternoon 
to get this big dinner for you,” exclaimed Eleanor, while her 
voice broke into mournful sobs. 

“I never said anything of the kind,” ejaculated Richard, 
his voice rising. ‘ ‘ I merely suggested that I would be glad to 

[ 28 ] 


Their Early Married Life 

help you make a Spanish omelette because you have evi¬ 
dently never seen one. I never dreamed you would burst 
out this way. I’m surprised,” concluded Richard, his face 
covered with an expression of anxiety and perplexity. 

“Well, I think you’re very unreasonable,” commented 
Eleanor snappily, as she rose from the table, wiped away the 
tears with her handkerchief, and went into the living-room, 
where she buried her face in the pillows of the davenport 
and continued to weep. 

Richard sat alone at the table for a few minutes. He 
was in deep reflection. What did it all mean? Had he really 
been unjust? No, he hadn’t been. He had only expressed a 
wish for something which he liked, and because his wife 
was not prepared to meet his wishes in the matter, he had 
told her that he would help her make the omelette, because 
he had seen them made at first hand by his own good mother. 
Surely he had the right to mention his mother; the same 
right as he had to mention his father. Eleanor had seemed 
interested while he was discussing his father, but now that 
he had merely referred to the fact that he had seen his 
mother make an unusual kind of omelette, he had completely 
upset his young wife’s nerves. 

All these meditations passed through Richard Rad- 
cliffe’s mind in rapid succession; and the more he pondered, 
the more confused he became. 

Then he remembered that his mother had always told 
him to treat his sisters with sympathy and chivalry, because 
they were more delicately constituted than he, both mentally 
and physically; and that he must try to understand them. 

Then Richard’s heart began to soften. He could almost 
hear his mother talking to him, as she had in the long ago, 
when she had reminded him to look out for Matilda and to 


[ 29 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


keep an eye on Marietta, even though they were a year and a 
half and three years older than he. 

Eichard arose from the table and walked slowly toward 
the living-room. Eleanor’s flood of tears had subsided some¬ 
what, although she was still reclining on the davenport. 

As Richard approached her, he said apologetically: 

“I’m very sorry that I said anything which hurt your 
feelings. You know that I didn’t mean to,” he said tenderly, 
as he put his arm around Eleanor’s waist, and continued: 

1 ‘ Let’s forget it; it doesn’t amount to anything, anyway. 
The whole thing is a mighty small matter compared with the 
larger things of life. Now will you kiss me?” he queried. 

“I would if I thought you didn’t mean to infer, by your 
reference to your mother, that you still hold her in the 
place of supreme affection in your heart. I believe you 
think more of her memory than you care for me,” said 
Eleanor, as she made an effort to draw herself away from 
Richard. 

“Now, don’t be silly. You wouldn’t want a husband 
who didn’t cherish the memory of his mother, would you? 
You wouldn’t have any confidence in me at all if I did not 
revere her memory. I can’t understand why you should 
come to grief over such a foolish matter,” ejaculated Richard. 

“Well, leaving your mother out of it, am I really the 
only woman except her whom you ever loved?” 

“Well, of all things! Such a question! Why, of course, 
you know you are. You foolish little darling,” exclaimed 
Richard, as he took Eleanor in his arms and kissed her 
fondly. 

She continued to sit beside him, while she remarked: 

“I had a friend in boarding-school, Sophie Dearborn, 
whom we girls used to call ‘Peter.’ She had been about the 


[ 30 ] 


Their Early Married Life 


world a great deal more than any of the rest of us, because 
her mother was dead and her father was away from home a 
great deal. She used to travel with him. She knew a good 
many actresses and chorus girls whom she had met at the 
sea-shore, and she used to tell us girls that a man with a past 
was much more interesting than a man without one. This 
has always puzzled me because you have always been inter¬ 
esting, Richard, ever since I knew you; and yet you have 
told me time and again, as you have just now that I’m the 
only girl whom you have ever loved. If that is true, then 
you have not had a past and I wonder why you are so 
interesting. Sophie used to say that a real girl always 
loved a man who had had a past better than she did one 
who had not,” concluded Eleanor, in a manner which indi¬ 
cated that there was still a question in her mind. 

“Well, do you think you would love me more if I had 
had a past?” queried Richard, smilingly. 

“Well, Sophie, ‘Peter’ as we called her, was a pretty 
wise girl, so I ’ll have to admit that I might love you more if 
you had had a past,” answered Eleanor, with a strategic 
expression, which indicated that she was holding something 
back. 

“Well then, I suppose I had better be frank and admit 
to you that I have had, — well, — not really a past, no one 
else whom I really loved, but I have had other sweethearts,” 
answered Richard frankly. 

“You wretch! Now, you admit it. I knew all the time 
you were keeping something from me! Other sweethearts! 
Of course, I might have known that you had. I’m going 
home to mother. If you don’t give me some money I shall 
telegraph her to send it,” concluded Eleanor angrily. 

“Well, I’ll be jiggered! You never do know when I’m 

[ 31 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


joking you. Don’t you know that I was joking you all 
along? Couldn’t you see that I was only teasing you? I 
turned my face away because I feared you would detect the 
twinkle in my eyes. Now, come on, I’m going to help you 
pick up the dishes. We’re going to forget all this foolish¬ 
ness. It’s too silly to be given a thought by intelligent minds. 
Come on now,” ejaculated Richard, as he took Eleanor by 
the hand and led her back to the dining-room, where he 
kissed her again. 

Richard then went seriously to work, helping to pick up 
the dinner dishes; then he brushed the crumbs from the 
dining-room table. Eleanor washed the dishes, while Richard 
dried them on a soft towel. Then he made a fire in the grate 
in the living-room and the two sat down for a peaceable, 
enjoyable evening; — Eleanor with her embroidery, and 
Richard with a volume of Mark Twain, from which he read 
aloud to her. 

On each side of the fire-place were built-in book-cases, 
with soft hand-made curtains, which slid back and forth on 
a rod. The library contained the standard works of the 
classic English authors, many translations from the best 
literature in other languages, and a goodly number of books, 
relating to the law, — such as an elegantly bound volume of 
Blackstone’s Commentaries, — Jones on Mortgages, Moore 
on Facts, and Lawson on Contracts. Then, too, there was a 
copy of Samuel Warren’s Ten Thousand A Year, — a work 
of fiction which will always be a favorite among lawyers. 
There were many didactic discourses from the most dis¬ 
cerning and scholarly legal minds. This collection of books 
represented young Radcliffe’s literary tastes over a period 
of years, dating from his school days to the present time. 

[ 32 ] 


Their Early Married Life 


Here and there, were works of George Ade, Mr. Dooley, and 
other writers in lighter vein. 

Eleanor Radcliffe’s home training had been so directed 
that she had a true appreciation of the best books, although 
her natural inclination led her to the frequent perusal of 
fiction and essays. 

Both Richard and Eleanor were so well-grounded in the 
best literature that they found most of their diversion in 
reading, especially since they were new comers in a strange 
city, which did not furnish a great variety of the best 
amusements. 


[ 33 ] 


CHAPTER III 


Richard Radcliffe’s First Case In the West 

R ICHARD RADCLIFFE’S first client was a ranchman, 
-—a tall, gaunt, lanky, husky Westerner, with squinty 
eyes and straight bushy black hair, — Lem Simpkins by name. 

Lem was a careful man, who attended to all matters 
forehandedly. His fall ploughing was always done early. 
His crops were many times well on their way before those of 
his neighbors were even started. He used the best seed and 
the highest grade of fertilizer. He re-stocked his farm by 
select and discriminating breeding. His spring shoats, his 
sleek smooth calves, and his well-groomed mare, all bespoke 
thought and attention. 

In midsummer he had decided to build a fire-place in the 
big living-room of his log cabin. He had employed a brick 
mason to make an opening recess in the wall, where he might 
have a hearth about six feet by three. 

The brick mason assured Lem that he had given him the 
best workmanship possible in the construction of fire-places. 
Lem paid him in gold dollars, — for gold was the principal 
medium of exchange in the far West in those days. 

Jim Bellows, for that was the brick mason’s name, went 
his way, but when fall came and Lem started his first fire, 
he was smoked completely out of house and home. He tried 
for three days to make the fire-place work, but with no success. 
Then, Lem saddled his bay mare and hied his way to Jim 

[ 34 ] 


Richard Radcliffe y s First Case In the West 


Bellows ’ cabin, where Lem besought him to bring his tools 
as soon as possible, and correct his faulty piece of work¬ 
manship. 

Jim Bellows argued that he had done his best; that he 
could do no more; that if there was any defect in the fire¬ 
place, it was not his fault. 

Lem insisted that he should come to see it, but Jim 
Bellows refused even to do that, — saying over and over 
again, that he knew he had originally done a perfectly good 
piece of work. 

Finally, with some hasty remarks, tinctured with pro¬ 
fanity, he ordered Lem Simpkins off his premises, — threaten¬ 
ing physical force, if the farmer did not leave at once. 

Lem went home, for it was getting near to milking time, 
but his heart was filled with animosity toward the unjust and 
conscienceless Jim Bellows. 

Not long after this incident on a very dark night, it 
transpired that a strong athletic man of sinewy build and 
angular features, overtook Jim Bellows on the highway near 
his home and gave him a severe beating, so that the blows 
inflicted upon him left him in a highly discolored and painful 
condition, with the result that he was unable to do a day’s 
work during the following fortnight. 

As soon as Jim Bellows was able to be about, he went 
to the office of the Prosecuting Attorney for the County, and 
told his story in such an effective manner that the District 
Attorney decided to prosecute Lem Simpkins for Assault and 
Battery, since Jim Bellows bore every indication that his 
injuries were the result of willful violence from a fierce 
antagonist; and he knew that he had no other enemy in the 
community save Lem Simpkins, — since the latter was the 

[ 35 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

only person with whom he had had any serious disagreement. 

Accordingly, Lem Simpkins was summoned by the author¬ 
ities of the law to appear in the Court of a Justice of the 
Peace, by the name of Sam Dingle. 

Now, it happened that previous to the trial of Simpkins, 
the Prosecuting Attorney, Robert Dunne, who was a powerful 
and influential personage in that pioneer country, warned 
Sam Dingle that Lem Simpkins had engaged to defend him a 
young spurt of an attorney by the name of Richard Radcliffe, 
who thought he was deucedly smart and clever, and who would 
undoubtedly attempt to make an argument on demurrer and 
have the case against his client thrown out of Court for No 
Cause of Action. 

The sessions of Justice Dingle’s Court were held in a 
little, old log school house, with the Justice sitting by the 
teacher’s desk, near a window, at his back, which admitted 
enough light for the Justice to be able to distinguish the 
plaintiff in the action from the defendant. 

The day before the case was called, Robert Dunne had 
told Justice Dingle to refuse to listen to the argument on 
demurrer, in order that the full penalty of the law might be 
inflicted upon the offender, — Lem Simpkins, defendant. 

As soon as the Court convened, young Radcliffe arose, 
addressing Justice Dingle in appealing and convincing lan¬ 
guage, and made an earnest argument, including the most 
logical reasons why Justice Dingle should listen to an argu¬ 
ment on demurrer and dismiss the case against his client 
from Court. 

Before young Radcliffe was able to conclude his eloquent 
plea for Lem Simpkins, Justice Dingle waved his hands 
violently in the air and shouted: “Sit down! Sit down! 

[ 36 ] 


Richard Radcliffe’s First Case In the West 

This Court knows its business. You can’t argue for any 
demurrer here. Sit down!” 

And, then, the old pioneer war horse struck the desk 
with a heavy wooden gavel, as if to strike out all argument 
in behalf of the defendant. It looked now like an easy 
victory for the plaintiff. Jim Bellows bore a satisfied, elated 
expression, and the Prosecuting Attorney, Robert Dunne, 
was well assured that his carefully laid plans would not 
miscarry. 

Suddenly, young Radcliffe turned to a blank fly-leaf of 
an old law book and mumbled in an undertone, but loud 
enough for the Court to hear, these words: 

“If any Justice of the Peace in this State shall refuse 
to listen to an argument on demurrer, he shall have his house¬ 
hold goods, chattels, and other property, seized and con¬ 
fiscated, and be sentenced to not less than one year and not 
more than five years’ term of service in a State Penitentiary.” 

The old Justice perked up his ears and listened. 

“What’s that? Read that over again!” he said in¬ 
sistently,— being so ignorant of the law that he did not 
detect the erroneousness of what Richard Radcliffe had read, 
— and so unsuspecting that he did not dream that the young 
lawyer had resorted to strategy and improvised, on the spur 
of the moment, every word which he had uttered. 

Just then the Prosecuting Attorney, realizing that he was 
pitting his own wits against a very able and resourceful young 
opponent who might cause him to lose his case, shouted: 

“Justice Dingle, don’t listen to that daring young up¬ 
start! That obstreperous skin-flint! He’ll get the best of 
you, if you do! ” 

But Justice Dingle was scared. He feared that in some 
way the Prosecuting Attorney himself was trying to trip 

[ 37 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


him, or get him into trouble, so the old Justice said emphat¬ 
ically in very loud tones: 

“Sit down there, Mister Prosecutor! This Court knows 
its businessl” And again, Justice Dingle beat the desk 
furiously with his gavel. Then he repeated: 

“Radeliffe, read that over again, by the Order of the 
Court, — what you just read from the Law, I mean; and read 
it a little louder this time, please, so that I can hear it all.” 
And he put one hand over the lobe of his left ear, in which 
he was known to be a little “hard of hearing ” as he then 
explained. 

Radeliffe again read triumphantly, in deep, loud tones: 

“If any Justice of the Peace in this State shall refuse to 
listen to an argument on demurrer, he shall have his house¬ 
hold goods, chattels and other property, seized and confiscated, 
and be sentenced for not less than one year and not more than 
five years to serve in a State Penitentiary.” 

In a frightened tone, Justice Dingle exclaimed: 

“Well, what shall I do with this case? What would you 
do?” And he looked young Radeliffe straight in the eye 
for an answer. 

“Do? Why throw the case out of Court, of course!” 

“Very well,” said the old Justice, who was utterly 
ignorant of the rules of legal Court procedure, and equally 
as unfamiliar with the formalities of dismissing cases from 
Court. 

Then, suddenly, Justice Dingle grabbed all the papers 
which had been filed in connection with the case; — took them 
in his arms, opened the window at his back and threw the 
Complaint and Answer out of the window, remarking in 
vigorous tones, as he did so: 

“This case is now out of Court!” 


[ 38 ] 


Richard Radcliffe’s First Case In the West 


The outburst of laughter, which followed Justice Dingle ’s 
peremptory and unceremonious dismissal of the Case, was 
too contagious not to spread its influence to the Prosecuting 
Attorney, Robert Dunne, and to the plaintiff, Jim Bellows, 
disappointed as they were at the outcome of their case. 

Of course, Richard Radcliffe and Lem Simpkins left the 
Court-room in highly elated spirits. From that day, Richard 
Radcliffe became locally famous, and his reputation as a re¬ 
sourceful, capable attorney dated from this time. It had been 
a small incident, — a case, seemingly so unimportant, that 
few lawyers would have bothered with it, but it brought 
Richard Radcliffe many clients, and in the end, big, lasting 
returns. 

The unusual wit and skill which he had displayed in this 
instance, he soon brought into play in representing prominent 
business concerns. Seemingly, by a strange trick of the Fates, 
his first case served to advertise his ability as a lawyer through¬ 
out the entire Northwest section of the United States. Up to 
this time, young Radcliffe had had an up-hill road in trying 
to establish his practice in a new country, but, after this, his 
clients increased in numbers to such a degree that his success 
was assured. 

A few weeks after the occurrence in Justice Dingle’s 
Court, an Indian, by the name of Red Feather Alki, was ar¬ 
rested, charged with the murder of a white man, near Mount 
Olympic, whose name was Benjamin Reed. 

Reed owned extensive apple orchards in the Wenatchee 
Valley. Red Feather had bought some apples from him and 
a dispute had arisen when it came time to measure the 
quantity of apples,— Red Feather accusing Reed of having 
given him ‘ ‘ poor measure ’ ’. An abrupt, hasty quarrel ensued. 
One of Reed’s neighbors, who was standing nearby, inter- 

[ 39 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


vened and prevented a hand-to-hand combat between Red 
Feather and the white man. 

The Indian went home in enraged spirits. He refused to 
take the apples or to pay for them. 

That night, Reed was murdered in his log-cabin. The 
following day, Red Feather was apprehended, taken into 
custody by the officers of the law and lodged in the County 
Jail, charged with the murder of Benjamin Reed. It looked 
like a plain, straight case of murder in the first degree. 

Red Feather had heard of Richard Radcliffe and sent for 
the latter to defend him. As soon as Radcliffe could go over 
the grounds and premises, surrounding the Reed Ranch, he 
made a careful examination of the foot-prints in the mud 
along the road leading to Reed’s orchard and cabin. There 
was a strong imprint in the mud, which indicated, beyond a 
doubt, that a bare-footed man had traveled this road as far 
as the Reed orchard and then turned toward the cabin, where 
the foot-prints disappeared. 

Every one believed that Red Feather had discarded his 
Indian moccasins so as to disguise his trail. 

Richard Radcliffe was convinced, after his first talk with 
Red Feather, that the accused Indian was not guilty and he 
set to work with all possible haste to accumulate evidence 
in defense of his client. He had a Plaster of Paris mould 
made of the Indian’s foot, and another mould of the same 
substance, which was an exact duplicate of the imprint of 
the foot-tracks in the mud along the highway and the trail 
which led to Benjamin Reed’s cabin. 

In this way, Radcliffe discovered that there was no sim¬ 
ilarity between the imprint of the Indian’s foot and that of 
the foot-tracks in the mud along the road which Red Feather 

[ 40 ] 


Richard Radcliffe’s First Case In the West 

was supposed to have traveled before he committed the murder 
of which he stood accused. 

On the day of Red Feather's trial, Richard Radcliffe 
made an earnest plea to save the life of his client. 

In his preliminary remarks he dwelt briefly upon the 
merits and virtues of the Red Race, and then proceeded to 
discourse upon the fact that, up to this time, Red Feather 
had always borne a reputation for loyalty to his tribe and 
honesty in all his dealings with white men. He then referred 
to the witnesses for the defense, many of whom were numbered 
among the best known and most influential citizens of the 
community, all of whom had given testimony as to the good 
character and noble deeds of Red Feather, who had upon one 
occasion, given one of his most loved dogs to the widow of a 
white man in order that she and her children might have 
some small recompense for a slight favor which the widow’s 
husband had done for Red Feather, just previous to the white 
man’s death. Red Feather had really given the bereaved 
woman his best dog to defend her and her children in the 
absence of their deceased protector. 

More than this, Radcliffe cited another instance, where 
Red Feather had proven his heroic qualities. It happened 
that one time when he was walking from the reservation on 
which he lived to the City of Mount Olympic, he saw just 
ahead of him a small boy, about four years of age, who was 
playing on the railroad track. 

Red Feather heard a train approaching, and immediately 
he rushed forward to rescue the white child. Red Feather 
pushed the little boy off the track and barely escaped death 
himself by his heroic action. 

At the climax of Radcliffe’s plea, in defense of his client, 
he brought forth the Plaster of Paris imprints of the foot- 

[ 41 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


tracks which led to Reed’s cabin on the night of his murder. 
Then he exhibited the plaster mould of the Indian’s right 
foot, which he compared with the reproduction of the right 
foot of the man who had traveled over the road to Reed’s 
home a short time before the latter’s tragic death. 

The jury and judge were convinced beyond a doubt that 
Red Feather was innocent. The Indian was acquitted. 

Not long after this, a white man, — a ranchman, by the 
name of Stingyman, who was known throughout the country 
as a close-fisted, hard, oppressive man, confessed, upon his 
death-bed, that several weeks before he had quarreled with 
Reed over some logged-off land, which they had cleared to¬ 
gether, with the understanding that they should divide the 
profits from the timber sold. Stingyman claimed that Reed 
had taken in the money for the timber and that he had kept 
a great deal more than his rightful share of the proceeds. 
Reed had promised Stingyman an amicable settlement, from 
time to time. One evening, Stingyman had gone to Reed’s 
home to talk matters over and to come to a final decision, con¬ 
cerning the apportionment of the money. They had quar¬ 
reled again. Finally, Stingyman challenged Reed to settle 
the matter by physical force, with the agreement that who¬ 
ever won the fight should have all the money for the timber. 
Reed struck the first blow. Stingyman came back at him with 
such tremendous power that Reed was overcome. Stingy- 
man’s blow proved fatal, although he declared when he was 
dying, he had not intended to murder Reed. 

Richard Radcliffe’s insight into human nature, which had 
been proven so conclusively by his ability to read Red Feather’s 
thoughts, and which had been demonstrated to such capital 
advantage in his defense of Red Feather at the latter’s trial, 
served the young pioneer lawyer in good stead throughout 

[ 42 ] 


Richard Radcliffe’s First Case In the West 

his future career. His services were sought, of course, by 
guilty criminals; but if he believed a man to be guilty, 
Richard Radcliffe never defended him. On the other hand, 
if he believed a man to be innocent, he never refused to take 
his case, -— no matter how poor, or wretched, or miserable, the 
man might be. 

Young Radcliffe established for himself, in his new en¬ 
vironment, a standard which won the respect of the best citi¬ 
zens in the community. His first case, which had been tried 
in the country school-house, where he had so cleverly finessed 
the old Justice of the Peace, survived in the memories of his 
clients and the leading men of the Northwest, only as a 
humorous incident where a keen bit of extemporaneous wit 
and strategy had outwitted a more experienced, self-confident 
and egotistical opponent. 

In the final analysis, Richard Radcliffe built his reputa¬ 
tion and prestige entirely on the principles of integrity, 
justice and square dealing, which had characterized the bril¬ 
liant career of his once distinguished father. 


[ 43 ] 


CHAPTER IV 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 

“T HAVE just made up my mind to join the Olympic 
1 Club. Worthington-Hargreaves has just invited me to 
become a member. You remember that I brought a letter of 
introduction to him, when I came here. He is a Psi U, too, 
by the way, and it was the President of our National Frater¬ 
nity Organization, who recommended me to him. 

“Young Hargreaves has just inherited a very substantial 
fortune from his father, who was one of the pioneers in this 
country. The older Hargreaves went into Alaska, many years 
ago, and was very successful in mining operations. He prob¬ 
ably took more gold and silver out of Alaska than any other 
one man of his day. 

“Hargreaves has seemed to like me from the first. Very 
recently, he has given me considerable business. He is grad¬ 
ually getting away from an old firm of attorneys here, who 
have always represented his father’s estate. 

“Only yesterday, he told me that he wanted me to make 
a trip for him to Copper Mountain, Alaska. It seems that his 
father owned a copper mine there, which has never been 
developed. The older Hargreaves accepted this mine in a 
trade, shortly before his death, and the administrators of his 
estate have never thought it worth while to invest any money 
in looking into its possible resources. 

“Young Hargreaves is a pretty good sport. He wants 

[ 44 ] 


A Little Fire Kmdleth a Great Matter 


to know just what the prospects are for getting something 
out of this mining property. He doesn’t know much about it 
himself, and he has to start East day after tomorrow, to 
attend to some business matters in New York; so he wants me 
to make a trip to Alaska, to find out exactly what conditions 
are at Copper Mountain. 

“If it should develop that there is anything worth while 
in this copper mine business, it will pay me very well. In 
fact, if it proves to be anything substantial, Hargreaves has 
assured me of a very liberal equity in the property, if I will go 
ahead with the responsibility of getting the copper out of 
Alaska,” concluded Richard. 

“I don’t like to have you go away now. The weather is 
so dreary. We have so much rain and it is so gloomy being 
alone, especially at this time of the year. Can’t you postpone 
this trip to Alaska until some other time?” queried Eleanor. 

“I don’t see how I can. Hargreaves wants me to go now 
and I always believe in the business policy of striking ‘while 
the iron is hot’.” 

“I always thought you intended to build your reputation 
on your ability as a lawyer, not on some wild cat promotion 
mining scheme,” interrupted Eleanor. 

“Who said anything about a wild cat scheme? Or pro¬ 
moting a mine? You do get such queer ideas,” exclaimed 
Richard, in a half disgruntled mood. 

“Why, you said that Hargreaves promised you an inter¬ 
est in the mine if you would go ahead and sell the copper, 
didn’t you?” 

“No, I didn’t say anything of the kind; — mining copper 
and getting it out of Alaska is a very different proposition 
from organizing a stock company and engineering a promo¬ 
tion scheme,” said Richard with emphasis, and some mental 

[ 45 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


reservations in regard to promoting the mine. 

* ‘ I don’t see why. You have to sell the copper; you have 
to put it on the market before you can get any money out 
of it, don’t you?” 

‘‘Well, we won’t discuss the copper mine any further. I 
only spoke about going because I thought it best that you 
should write to your mother, or better still, telegraph her to 
come on to stay with you, while I am gone to Alaska. You 
know she has never visited us but once.” 

“Why, Eichard, you know very well that mother could 
never leave home on such short notice. She would have to 
know a month ahead, anyway.” 

“A month? Well, I can’t see why, when she has three 
strong, healthy daughters and a perfectly good cook to leave 
in the house,” remarked Eichard. 

“Well! Wouldn’t she have to get clothes and pack 
trunks and leave everything in the house in perfect order? 
She simply couldn’t do it on any short notice. If you can 
wait a few weeks, I presume it is altogether likely that mother 
can arrange to come.” 

“I am willing to take the responsibility of telegraphing 
her to come right away, because I have to go to Alaska on 
business. She’ll understand that. Besides, your father is a 
very sensible man and I don’t believe that he ever holds up 
important business matters, waiting for your mother to put 
her affairs in order so that he can leave town. ’ ’ 

“What do you mean? You needn’t wait either for me 
to put my affairs in order. You can go tomorrow if you want 
to, and I’ll go home,” concluded Eleanor, rather snappily. 

“I am sure you must appreciate that it would hardly be 
possible for me to arrange to bear the expenses of a trip East 
for you, again, right now. As you know, I have tied up all my 

[ 46 ] 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 

spare cash, except a rather small margin for current expenses. 
I did this after your trip East last spring. 

“You know I have paid off the mortgage on this house; 
bought the new furniture you asked for, and the rest of my 
money I put into good Municipal and Corporation Bonds, so 
that you would have something besides this house and my 
small life insurance policy, in the event that anything should 
happen to me,” commented Richard. 

“I didn’t know that you bought any bonds. Where are 
they?” questioned Eleanor. 

“Why, in my safe deposit vault, of course. Where did 
you expect they were?” 

“Well, I don’t see why you can’t sell one of them so 
that I can make a trip East. I would have to go to Washing¬ 
ton, anyway, if any ill fortune overtook us,” suggested 
Eleanor. 

* ‘ The facts are, I made so many sacrifices in order to save 
the money to buy these bonds for your protection, that I don’t 
feel like disposing of them unless some emergency should 
arise which would make it necessary. I have postponed, for 
a long time, the expense of joining the Olympic Club, so that 
I could save the money which I would naturally spend there; 
and there were numerous times when I would have gone out 
of town on little excursions ‘with the boys’ if it had not been 
that I was saving money for you, ’ ’ concluded Richard. 

“Well, I’m not surprised at that. It is just as I sus¬ 
pected. I’ve had an idea all along for the last few months 
that you wanted to get away from me, and now you admit it. 
I presume that’s more than half of the reason why you want 
to go to Alaska,” exclaimed Eleanor, while her voice trembled, 
and she broke into sobs. 

“I can’t understand why you complain about the rain 
[ 47 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


and the gloomy weather and yet insist upon running opposi¬ 
tion to Niagara Falls,” Richard remarked sarcastically. 

“I won’t stand your sarcasm. You can get me my ticket 
tomorrow morning. I’ll go to Washington and you can go to 
Alaska whenever you like,” insisted Eleanor, as she picked 
up a wool coverlet, which she was knitting for the davenport, 
and thrust it into her work-basket, which was filled with soft, 
old-rose yarn, twined in graceful skeins. 

“Now, don’t be foolish again. I heard you say only day 
before yesterday that you wanted your mother to come on to 
make you a visit and this is just the time for her, so let me go 
ahead and telegraph her to come. Then, if she hesitates or 
declines, we’ll try to make some plan so that you can go to 
see her,” suggested Richard. 

“No, I want to go home,” Eleanor continued to insist. 

Richard said no more on this subject. But the next 
morning he took matters in his own hands, wired to Washing¬ 
ton, and came home from the office with a telegram in his 
pocket, which he handed to Eleanor, as soon as he took his 
hat off. 

It read as follows: 

SIMPLY DELIGHTED TO VISIT YOU LET ME PLAN TO ARRIVE A PEW 
DAYS BEFORE YOU LEAVE FOR ALASKA WILL REMAIN UNTIL YOU 
RETURN MUCH LOVE TO YOU BOTH MOTHER 

“Well, it’s a nice time, I must say, to have mother visit 
us when you’re going to be away. We can’t go out anywhere. 
There will be no one to take us. We’ll just simply have to sit 
at home and look at each other. We can’t go to public amuse¬ 
ments without an escort. We can’t invite other women with 
their husbands to spend evenings with us, when there is no 

[ 48 ] 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 


host in our house to receive them; so we shall be in a nice 
situation all around. Well, I suppose I’ll have to make the 
best of it. That’s all I can do. I want you to know, though, 
that I do object to your going ahead and making all arrange¬ 
ments, in regard to our affairs, without consulting me. I 
don’t think it’s considerate and I don’t think it’s fair,” said 
Eleanor petulantly. 

Secretly, she was glad that her mother was coming, but 
she was one of those independent, willful girls, who would 
not admit that she was pleased, unless it seemed consistent 
with her previous utterances. Eleanor was always fearful 
that she would not maintain her personal dignity, unimpaired. 
Her mind was like a crystal, rather than a brilliant meteor. 
It was clear, proud-spirited, and tenaciously exacting. Yes, 
after all, she thought, it would be best to have her mother 
come to her, but she would not gratify Richard enough to 
tell him so. 

When she had concluded her protesting remarks, con¬ 
cerning her mother’s contemplated visit, Richard said: 

“Now, there isn’t anything to prevent your having a 
splendid time all the while I am away. Hargreaves is going 
to be in the East and Mrs. Hargreaves will be alone, too. He 
has suggested, several times, that she must meet you and she 
is coming to call on you tomorrow. In fact, he apologized 
because she had not done this before; but she has not been 
able to make any calls since her baby boy was born, nearly a 
year ago. She is just beginning now to resume her social 
duties. I think you will find her very sweet and agreeable, 
and I want you to become very good friends with her. I met 
her, only a few days ago, in Hargreaves’ office. She is an 
Eastern girl; — a graduate of the Miss Maxwells’ School on 
the Hudson. Her father was a manufacturer in New York 

[ 49 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


and they always lived in Montclair, New Jersey. She is just 
the type of woman whom you will like, and I think you will 
be much happier after you become acquainted with her,” 
concluded Richard. 

The following day, Mrs. Humphrey Worthington-Har- 
greaves came to call on Eleanor, who had commented to 
Richard the night before, that the name of her prospective 
caller sounded rather formidable. 

Eleanor was agreeably surprised to find that her appre¬ 
hensions were not well-grounded; for she found Mrs. Har¬ 
greaves to be a very simple, unassuming, unaffected, little 
lady, with a low, sweet voice and gracious manner. In fact, 
the simplicity of the latter was so utterly out of keeping with 
the well-known dignity and prestige of her social position, 
as the leader of the smartest set in the City of Mount Olympic, 
that Eleanor thought when she opened the door to receive her 
caller that it could not be Mrs. Hargreaves at all, until the 
unpretentious little woman, in a very quiet tone, said: 

“I am Mrs. Hargreaves. I’m sure Mr. Radcliffe has told 
you that I have long intended to come to see you, but I have 
been obliged to postpone my visit for reasons that I know Mr. 
Radcliffe has been good enough to explain.” 

‘ ‘Yes, I understand. I’ve been looking forward to your 
visit and I think it is very good of you to remember me when 
you must have so many cares and responsibilities, since the 
advent of your baby,” answered Eleanor, in her usually well- 
modulated voice. 

“1 suppose I am like all other women, or at least, I hope 
I am not so different, in wanting to talk about my new baby. 
He’s perfectly adorable and you must come to see him soon. 
Mr. Hargreaves told me today that he thought the child was 
becoming almost an obsession with me and that he was sure 

[ 50 ] 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 


that I needed to get ont to meet people and to see and hear 
other things. He has a man’s point of view. He’s just as fond 
of the baby as I am and makes just as much fuss over him; 
but he’s a little more reserved about talking on the subject 
to everyone whom he meets,” concluded Mrs. Hargreaves. 

Eleanor served tea, using her daintiest, almost trans¬ 
parent, flesh-pink china set, hand-painted in forget-me-nots, 
with her finest Dresden linen, with its heavily embroidered 
medallions. 

She chatted on with Mrs. Hargreaves, with the feeling 
of comradeship which characterizes much older acquaintances, 
and when it was time for her visitor to take leave, Eleanor 
Radcliffe was very grateful in her heart that she had made 
this charming new friend. She felt less lonely than she had 
for weeks. There was a warmth about Mrs. Hargreaves, which 
appealed to Eleanor, in spite of her own native tendency to 
reserve, and, her inclination to suppress her emotions. In 
fact, Mrs. Hargreaves had made Eleanor feel that there was 
some one in Mount Olympic on whom she could depend at any 
and all times, should she be in need of sympathy or com¬ 
panionship, outside of her own household. 

Eleanor’s mother arrived about three days in advance of 
Richard’s sailing for Alaska. The day after she came, Richard 
was called out of town to accompany a party of surveyors, 
who were making an estimate of a large tract of property on 
which was located valuable timber, belonging to the Worth- 
ington-Hargreaves Estate. 

Richard had left home early in the morning, with the 
assurance that he would return about five o’clock in the after¬ 
noon. About noon, a heavy rain-storm set in, which con¬ 
tinued unabated, during the remainder of the day. At eleven 
o’clock, Eleanor had gone downtown to do some marketing, 

[ 51 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


and before she returned home she had gone to the Majestic 
Theatre to purchase some tickets for that evening’s per¬ 
formance of the Magic Ladder Girl, — a fantastic, musical 
extravaganza, of unusual artistic merit, comprising an all- 
star cast in the leading roles, with a chorus composed of many 
of the best known dancers, who had been appearing in New 
York for several seasons. 

Eleanor arrived home just in time to escape the driving 
rain-storm. She had never been fond of the average musical 
show, but the spectacle for which she had purchased tickets, 
was of such out-standing fame for its remarkable theme that 
she said to her mother: 

“You know I never care for ordinary musical, or dancing 
shows. Richard seems to like them. I should never have 
thought of attending this fantasy had I not read the review 
of it in a copy of The New York Times, which Cousin Camille 
sent to me. It is the story of the rise to fame of a young 
woman who worked in a florist’s shop, where she was en- 
chantingly inspired by the perfume of the flowers. She built 
a ladder to Heaven made of all the flowers which she had 
cultivated. Over each tiny flower which she loved, she 
would repeat a few words of hypnotic enchantment until the 
flower would increase its fragrance and magnify its size. At 
last, there was produced in this Garden of Eden, a ladder of 
flowers on which this ethereal girl ascended into Paradise, 
surrounded by millions of flowers. From each tiny flower 
there burst forth a cherub. 

“These cherubs were encircled by other ethereal person¬ 
ages dressed in shimmering gowns. The older ones were borne 
along high in the Heavens by groups of merry, happy chil¬ 
dren, with laughing faces. Each flower became a living, vital 
creature, full of the vivacity, mirth and glee of childhood. 

[ 52 ] 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 


The final triumph comes when the spiritual countenance of 
The Magic Ladder Girl appears in the center, high above the 
stage, and radiates the influence of her Goodness over all 
beings, high and low, earthly and Heavenly, material and 
celestial. What do you think of my idea, of going tonight, 
mother ? ’ 9 

“It all sounds very beautiful; but don't you think that 
a rough day in this rain-storm and the long journey, — way 
out to the lumber camp and back again, will be enough for 
Eichard to do today, without dragging him off to the theatre 
tonight?" queried her mother. 

“Oh, I don't think so. Besides, you know, this is only 
a one-night performance and we couldn’t go tomorrow even¬ 
ing." 

On his way to Eatonville, Eichard recalled Eleanor's 
petulance, during the last conversation between them, which 
preceded her mother’s arrival. He knew that there had been 
many times when Eleanor had felt a deep sense of loneliness, 
since they had come to Mount Olympic. Often, of late, he had 
thought that he could trace a sort of hidden sorrow in her 
face. Sometimes, she was almost melancholy. Perhaps, he 
thought, he had not provided enough diversion for her. A 
few months before, he had purchased a moderate priced auto¬ 
mobile, with the idea of taking her out to drive frequently. 
He had hoped, at the time, when he first bought the car, that 
Eleanor would learn to drive it, so that she could take him 
back and forth to the office every day; but to his disappoint¬ 
ment, he found that she had not the self-confidence to 
believe that she could handle a car well; so he had been obliged 
to content himself with driving the car down town in the 
morning and home again at night, and by taking Eleanor for 
a drive on Saturday afternoons and Sundays. 

[ 53 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Richard Radcliffe continued his ruminations as he drove 
on toward the Eatonville Lumber Camp. While his married 
life had not fully met his highest hopes, yet, he concluded, 
that he, no doubt, was happier than the average married man. 
Eleanor was very artistic. There was no question about that. 
When he had courted her he had thought that her sensibil¬ 
ities were unusually well harmonized; he knew that she had a 
strong will, but he had not objected to that, because he had 
believed that, after all, it indicated strength of character and 
would prove pliable in her relations with him. The natural 
refinement of Eleanor’s intellect had made a strong appeal 
to him the first time that he had met her. 

Perhaps, he thought, his ideals of what married life 
should be were too exacting. Possibly, he had set too high a 
standard; and no doubt, he admitted to himself, he had fallen 
short of this standard. He conceded that if there was any 
inharmonious note vibrating between him and Eleanor, it 
was, undoubtedly, as much his fault as hers. 

And yet, he wished things might be different between 
them. They were not just as they should be. He had antici¬ 
pated before he was married that the Divine Spark of an all- 
abiding love would ignite between him and his wife. But he 
must be frank with himself. He knew in his own mind that 
the Divine passion was missing in his marital union. He 
didn’t know just why. He was beginning to believe what he 
had been told by more experienced men; that there is in most 
people a lack of capacity for permanent affection, — for con¬ 
tinuous, sustained interest in any one individual, — for never 
ceasing devotion of one to the other. However, Richard Rad- 
cliffe was not willing to admit that he belonged to that class 
of individuals who are so lacking in the power of concentrated 
love. In fact, no one would be willing to admit such a thing. 

[ 54 ] 


r 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 


Radcliffe was no exception to the general rule in this partic¬ 
ular, in believing himself capable of the highest heart interest, 
— the most exalted devotion, — the most permanent conse¬ 
cration of his affections. He convinced himself, as he thought 
matters over, that there was something lacking in Eleanor’s 
emotional make-up. 

He would make every effort to bridge over the little 
chasm which seemed to exist between them. He would try to 
mend this gap. He would do his best, he thought, as he 
recalled the lines of a poet who said: 

“We, often, what our minds should blush with shame for, 
Blame people the most for what they’re the least to blame for.” 

Although Richard Radcliffe was as free from jealousy as 
any high-minded man could be, at the same time, there was a 
misty thought which savored of jealousy which took posses¬ 
sion of him, when he thought of Eleanor’s continued absorp¬ 
tion in the books of fiction, which she continued to read. Was 
it because of the dissatisfaction which she felt with her own 
married life, which caused her to pore over the works of the 
modern writers of romance? Did she hope to find in them a 
soothing balm for the strain of irritability which had come 
into her own life through an all-absorbing desire for a great 
love which her husband had not been able to inspire? No, 
Richard’s self-respect and self-confidence would not permit 
him to yield to this conclusion. He was sure that Eleanor 
loved him in her way; but this way was not the way which 
he had expected. There were times when she showed him 
much tenderness and there were other times when she was 
painfully sensitive, and he thought worse than this, self- 
centered. 


[ 55 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


When Richard had completed his long, weary journey to 
the lumber camp; taken cognizance of the work of the sur¬ 
veyors and of the possibilities of the complete development of 
a vast timber area, he thought with satisfaction of all that it 
was going to mean to his client, Worthington-Hargreaves, and 
himself. 

Unquestionably, the prospect of large financial returns 
was assured. He would make a big sum of money out of this 
enterprise. He would be able to give Eleanor more things. 
He would cheerfully bestow upon her more luxuries. He 
would provide everything for her which could contribute to 
her material happiness; even if he was doomed to fail in 
meeting the desires of her heart. 

On his way home, he thought of the cheerful fire which 
he would build in the living-room. He knew that this 
comfort of the hearth would not be waiting for him. Eleanor 
had never built a fire since they had been house-keeping. She 
was as helpless in such matters as a new-born babe. Perhaps 
he was partly to blame for this, because he had begun their 
married life by waiting upon her, and he had continued to 
anticipate her wishes to the slightest detail. 

He had always looked after the heating apparatus in the 
basement before he left home in the morning, and again, when 
he returned at night. Eleanor never seemed to want a fire 
in the grate until evening; so she always left it for him to 
build. 

He felt sure that on this occasion, she would have a good 
dinner, because her mother was at home to help prepare it, 
and she would want to have the best table provisions which 
the market afforded, during her mother’s visit. Besides, 
Eleanor had really tried to improve in her cooking ever since 
the practical lesson which Richard had taught her in market- 

[ 56 ] 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 

ing. However, Eleanor's artistic inclinations were in the 
ascendency. They predominated over her physical desires 
and material wants; although she prized material things 
when they contributed to the development of her aesthetic 
nature. It was second nature for every one of the Fairchild 
name and traditions to plan very carefully in domestic ex¬ 
penditures, and the sense of domestic economy was accentu¬ 
ated in Eleanor Radcliffe, except where money was to be 
spent for artistic, interior decorating or furnishings. 

When Richard arrived home from his trip to Eatonville, 
he found things very much as he had expected. His personal 
apparel, which he had worn that day, was in a badly dishev¬ 
eled state. His top-coat was dripping wet and he had a most 
uncomfortable sensation of dampness from head to foot. He 
rushed into the house, and after kissing both Eleanor and 
her mother, removed his coat, after which, he fairly shook 
with a cold chill. 

Mrs. Fairchild was quick to suggest that they make some 
hot coffee, and that Richard should not wait for dinner before 
partaking of something which would alleviate his chill. 

While Eleanor's mother made the coffee, Richard brought 
in some wood and built a fire in the grate. Meanwhile, 
Eleanor herself, was completing other plans for the dinner, 
which she assured Richard would be ready in a few minutes. 

“I did not expect that you would be home quite so early. 
I really did plan to have my dinner as soon as you arrived, 
because I bought tickets for the theatre tonight, and it will 
be necessary for us to hurry a little, in order to be on time for 
the evening's performance." 

Richard's countenance reflected nothing short of real dis¬ 
appointment at Eleanor's lack of understanding, in making 

[ 57 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

such plans for an evening following such a nerve-racking, 
strenuous day. 

‘‘Well, I guess if I have to go to the theatre, I had better 
take some Cayenne Pepper tea, instead of drinking coffee, for 
I feel that I have taken cold,” said Richard, in a half re¬ 
signed mood. 

“Well, of course, you don’t have to go, but if you don’t, 
it will mean that I must sacrifice the tickets, unless I can 
find some one to use them, because there is to be only one 
appearance here of The Magic Ladder Girl. We haven’t 
done anything to entertain mother since her arrival and I 
think it’s about time that we took her out, ’ ’ concluded Eleanor, 
with emphasis. 

Richard went out to the kitchen to request Mrs. Fairchild 
to make the Cayenne Pepper tea. 

“I think it’s a shame that Eleanor has planned for you 
to go to the theatre this evening. If you don’t feel like it, 
why simply call a taxi for Eleanor and me and let us go, by 
ourselves, or, perhaps, some friend of yours will be able to go 
with us,” remarked Mrs. Fairchild, while she prepared the 
hot drink for Richard. 

“Oh, no! I’ll go. Eleanor seems to feel that we haven’t 
been entertaining you as we should; but, of course, there are 
very few things to go to here, as compared with Washington 
or New York.” 

“Let my entertainment be the least of your worries. I 
get quite enough joy out of merely being in your home for a 
visit. It would make me most uncomfortable if I thought 
that you were putting yourselves to any inconvenience on my 
account. I really feel that it is an injustice to you to be called 
upon to go out with us after your trying day,” concluded 
Mrs. Fairchild, sympathetically. 


[ 58 ] 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 

“No, Eleanor would be all broken up, if I were to stay 
at home, so I ’ll be a game sport and manage someway to hold 
out for a few more hours,” concluded Bichard, while he 
sipped his Pepper tea. 

“Well, you’re very kind, but I know it’s unjust that you 
should go,” said Eleanor’s mother, just as Eleanor herself 
came into the kitchen to look after some minor details, in con¬ 
nection with the dinner. 

On the day after the morrow, Richard sailed for Alaska, 
where he was to make a careful examination of all facts, re¬ 
lating to the mineral deposits on Hargreaves’ property at 
Copper Mountain. 

Before Richard left home, Eleanor divulged a secret to 
him. From that moment, he was inclined to think of her 
with increasing tolerance, and to understand better the causes 
of her recent peevishness and irritability. 

Indeed, Richard was so overjoyed at the prospect of an 
heir in the Radcliffe home, that he went away with a greater 
feeling of pride and contentment than he had experienced 
for many months. 

He was bound for Ketchikan and he had promised Eleanor 
and her mother that he would write to them soon after his 
arrival, and that he would cable immediately after the ship 
landed. 

The cable-gram, announcing that Richard had had a good 
voyage and was preparing to leave Ketchikan the following 
day to make the journey to Copper Mountain on foot, reached 
Eleanor on the third day after Richard left Mount Olympic. 
This was among the first cable messages to be transmitted from 
Ketchikan to Seattle, as the cable had just been laid. The 
letter came in due time. 


m 


A Warning to Wives 


It was the first occasion since their marriage, on which 
they had been separated for more than a day. 

Richard’s letter vibrated with much tenderness of emo¬ 
tion, and brought back to Eleanor some of the old-time joy 
which she had felt when their romance was at its height. 
It read: 

Dear Girl: 

While I am writing this letter, the telegram 
which I just sent about a half hour ago, will, no 
doubt, be delivered to you. 

You have been constantly in my thoughts ever 
since I left home, and I want to remind you over 
and over again of the necessity of your taking the 
best possible care of yourself at this precarious time. 

Indeed, I am very sorry that I was called away 
from home just at this time, because if I could have 
remained at home, I would have insisted on your 
exercising the utmost discretion in all your activities. 

I would be very much worried if it were not that 
you have your mother with you. I am sure that she 
will constantly watch over you, with all possible de¬ 
votion and tenderness. There really is no necessity 
for you to impose upon yourself any responsibilities, 
while I am away. Your mother will look after the 
house. I have instructed my office to provide you 
with everything that you may need, in the way of 
money or credit; and the last thing before I left, I 
called up Mrs. Hargreaves and told her that I should 
very much appreciate any attention which she could 
show you, during my absence. 

You see, I have met her so many times in her 

[ 60 ] 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 

husband’s office, that I feel very well acquainted with 
her. She was most agreeable, at all times, and during 
my last telephone conversation with her, she assured 
me that since she must he quite alone, during Har¬ 
greaves’ trip East, she would find great pleasure in 
seeing you often, and that she would very soon invite 
you and your mother down to dinner. 

I made arrangements with Top Hilton to come 
in every morning and evening, to look after the fires, 
for you and mother. He will also do any errands 
which you may require, and serve as an all-around 
handy man, while I am away. 

I must start tomorrow for Copper Mountain. 
There is only a trail, rather poorly broken, so I shall 
have about seven miles overland journey on foot, and 
then, the ascent of the mountain. Some say it is 
twelve miles and others report that it is only seven, so 
I do not know. 

Before I stop writing, I want to say that many 
times of late, when, perhaps, we may have thought 
we did not understand each other so well as we once 
did, I no doubt, have been to blame. I have been 
under considerable strain in handling the affairs of 
Hargreaves, and some other clients, whose business 
is in a complicated mess. I have had to fight some 
mighty hard battles to get started at all in a new 
country, where I was unknown. This has told on 
my nervous system, and while I do not wish to make 
any excuses for myself, I do want to say that my 
heart has always been in the right place toward you. 
If I have ever been inconsiderate, or lacking in gen¬ 
erosity in my attitude in our relations, I want you 

[ 61 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


to know that it has been only the result of an over¬ 
tired sub-conscious mind. 

The great ideal of my existence is to be kind 
and just. If I believed myself to be in any degree 
unjust to the one whom I love better than life itself, 

I would not consider myself a success, even though 
bonfires blazed from north to south and bells rang 
from east to west, in honor of my other deeds. I am 
merely writing you this that you may know what lies 
in the depths of my soul. 

Now be good to yourself. Give yourself the best 
of everything. You can only offend me by doing 
without something which you really need for your 
comfort and greatest happiness. 

Give my love to your good mother. You will 
hear from me again as soon as I get back to Ketch¬ 
ikan. 

Devotedly, 

Richard. 

There was no doubt that Richard’s letter had reawakened 
in Eleanor some of the old-time intensity of affection, 
which she had cherished in her girlish heart for the man 
of her choice. But she was too self-contained, too reticent, 
and too negatively balanced to mention the matter, even to her 
mother; for Eleanor was the type of woman who never has 
confidantes among her own sex, and who rarely gives her full 
confidence to her immediate women relatives. 

In her heart, she was willful and assertive. She liked 
to have her own way as well as any woman of her self- 
centered disposition. 

Eleanor knew that she should reply immediately to 

[ 62 ] 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 


Richard’s warm-hearted, thoughtful letter. He had told her 
before he went away to write him at the Revilia Hotel in 
Ketchikan. Anyway, he would be gone several days to Copper 
Mountain and she would write him in a day or two, she 
thought, after she had time to think just what she should say 
in reply to his tender expressions of love, which had character¬ 
ized more fully their early romantic days, than they had the 
last few months of their married life. 

When she did write, she was in none too good humor, 
because Top Hilton had come into the living-room to build a 
fire just a few minutes before, and he had tracked ashes all 
over Eleanor’s best velvet rug. Besides, he had accidentally 
broken a pane of glass in the basement, and while replacing it, 
he had daubed his fingers with putty, which had so besmeared 
the glass, that Eleanor had decided to have a man from the 
hardware store come to remove the window glass and put in a 
clean piece, in place of the stained pane. 

Eleanor wrote Richard much more briefly than he had 
written to her, and her letter was not so free of vein or 
spontaneous in its discourse. 

She merely said: 

Dear Richard: 

We were glad to hear that you arrived safely. 

The weather here has been fiendish. We have 
to have fires in both the furnace and the grate; but 
Top is more of a nuisance than he is help. He tracks 
ashes all over the best rugs, so I am going to tell him 
not to come any more; that mother and I will attend 
to the fires. 

I hope that you will find something worth while 
at Copper Mountain. I haven’t much faith that you 

[ 63 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


will. Most mines turn out to be worthless. I 
wouldn’t waste any time on this one, unless I was 
sure of its worth. 

Besides, practising law is easier than developing 
mines. After all, no man really has a very hard 
time. I smiled when I read your letter, when you 
spoke about the strain in handling the affairs of 
some of your clients. I thought that if you were to 
manage a house for a few days that you would really 
know what it means to be under a real nervous strain. 

I detest the odor of food cooking. We aren’t doing 
much cooking while you are away. Some day, I hope 
that they will operate community apartment houses 
in this town like they do in New York, so that we can 
send out and get our dinners all cooked. 

Mother and I are going to Mrs. Hargreaves for 
dinner tonight. 

Mother wishes to be remembered to you. 

Ever yours, 

Eleanor. 

If Eleanor knew in her heart that she really owed it to 
Richard to write him a kinder letter, containing more heart- 
interest, she never let anyone else know what was in her mind. 

She folded carefully the gray linen paper with the white 
border, on which was mounted, in artistic combination, the 
letters of her monogram. She placed the letter hurriedly in 
the envelope, while she heard the post-man ringing the door¬ 
bell, and, as he handed her some letters for her mother, she 
sealed her own letter to Richard, stamped it, and it was on 
its way. 

Several days went by. There was no more news from 


[ 64 ] 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 


Richard. Eleanor was not anxious about this, because he 
had told her that his stay at Copper Mountain would be in¬ 
definite. A week passed. Ten days were soon gone, and there 
was no word. Eleanor’s mother began to worry, and Eleanor, 
herself, showed a little anxiety by beginning to look for the 
mail man a half-hour before he was due. Two weeks elapsed, 
and still no letter came. Eleanor sent a cable-gram to the 
Revilia Hotel in Ketchikan but it was returned to her un¬ 
delivered. She was really worried now. 

What could have happened to Richard ? Surely some ill 
fate must have overtaken him. No doubt it was a perilous 
journey, Eleanor thought. It was an unfavorable season of 
the year, too; the early part of November,—cold, bleak, 
dreary weather. 

“It was so foolish of him to start out on any such ex¬ 
pedition. He ought to have known better. I can not see why 
he could not be satisfied just to continue his law practice in a 
civilized country, without attempting to pioneer in such a 
remote, barren, inhospitable region. I don’t know what is best 
to do. Richard ought to have known that his long absence in so 
hazardous an undertaking would be too great a strain for me 
to bear at this particular period of time. It is just awful. I 
suppose that the best thing for us to do is to send some one 
from his office to Ketchikan by the next boat. What do you 
think?” Eleanor asked her mother. 

“Well, whom can you send?” 

“There is a clerk in Richard’s office, by the name of Roger 
Blakeman, who is a rather energetic, resourceful young man. 
I think, perhaps, he had better go. There is a boat sailing day 
after tomorrow, but this suspense is terrible!” said Eleanor, 
as she broke down in tears. 

Mrs. Fairchild telephoned to Richard’s office and told 
[ 65 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


young Blakeman to come up to the house at once; that Eleanor 
was suffering extreme mental depression, because it was nearly 
three weeks now since there had been any news from Richard, 
either at his office or at home. 

As soon as Eleanor’s mother was through talking with 
Mr. Blakeman on the telephone, she called up Mrs. Worthing- 
ton-Hargreaves and explained to her why the latter had not 
heard from them since Mrs. Fairchild and her daughter had 
been so delightfully entertained by Mrs. Hargreaves about 
ten days before. 

In a few minutes Roger Blakeman arrived at the Rad- 
cliffe home, with the information that, on his own initiative, 
he had for two or three days past, been sending cable-grams to 
Ketchikan, with instructions to organize a searching party 
to go overland to Copper Mountain, to locate Richard Rad- 
cliffe at the earliest possible time. Blakeman had not com¬ 
municated with Mrs. Radcliffe, concerning his persistent 
efforts to find Richard, because he did not wish to bring to 
her any unnecessary anxiety. He had already in mind that 
it would be best for him to go to Alaska himself, and he had 
put his affairs in order so that he could sail on the next boat. 

While young Blakeman was discussing these plans with 
Eleanor and her mother, Mrs. Worthington-Hargreaves came, 
to express her interest and to offer any resources at her com¬ 
mand to assist in the search for her husband’s best friend. 

Loyola Hargreaves was one of those comforting little 
women, whose presence anywhere is always a benediction. 
She was always there, when any one of her friends needed 
her. She was sweet, charming and earnest — always sym¬ 
pathetic, and sensitive to the wants of others. She was one 
of those women whom Ruskin might have described as “only 

[ 66 ] 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 

human insofar as they are sensitive and whose honor is pre¬ 
cisely in proportion to their sympathetic sensations. ’’ 

It was agreed by all that Blakeman had decided upon the 
wisest possible course of action, in determining to sail on the 
Steamer Alameda for Ketchikan. 

After Mrs. Hargreaves and Blakeman left the house, 
Eleanor continued to protest over and over again, because 
Richard had left home, on so perilous a journey, when she, 
herself, was in such delicate health. In her nervous excite¬ 
ment, she said things which she did not mean. As a rule, 
she possessed considerable poise, — that is, that kind of poise 
which characterizes women who are slow in demonstrating 
their affections, because of their pride and desire to give 
the impression of imperviousness. 

But now, Eleanor’s self-control had deserted her. Reason 
gave way to impulse; and she actually censured Richard for 
his negligence of her and his lack of consideration in leaving 
her, for any business venture. 

Her mother chided her for her impetuosity; but Eleanor 
kept on talking, with little restraint. 

Mother and daughter put in a very troublesome night. 
Neither of them slept but little, Eleanor declaring when morn¬ 
ing dawned that she had not even lost consciousness during 
the night. Her mother recalled that for a few minutes along 
towards morning she had heard Eleanor breathing deeply, as 
if in sound slumber, but Mrs. Fairchild had herself too well 
in hand to remind Eleanor that she knew she had had a brief 
nap. 

The day which followed was long and tiresome. There 
was a down-pour of rain. Everything was dark and gloomy, 
without even one ray of sunshine to relieve the monotony or 
tediousness of the highly tense situation. 

[ 67 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


There was another night of anxiety; but Eleanor and her 
mother both slept from sheer exhaustion, until about three 
o’clock in the morning, when they awoke, turned on the lights; 
made some toast and drank some hot milk. 

Early in the forenoon, they talked with Blakeman on the 
telephone. He was already to sail at eleven o’clock. 

A little after nine o’clock, the door-bell rang. Mrs. 
Fairchild went to the door. There was an Alaska Cable Com¬ 
pany messenger boy, who handed her a cable-gram. She opened 
it nervously, while Eleanor came running down-stairs, as she 
had seen the boy when he was approaching the house. 

Mrs. Fairchild read the message aloud. 

KETCHIKAN, ALASKA. 

ON WAY TO COPPER MOUNTAIN, ASCENDING STEEP CLIFF THREW 
MY RIGHT LEG OUT OF JOINT AT KNEE. HAD TO CRAWL EIGHT 
MILES ON HANDS AND KNEES BEFORE FINDING BOAT WHICH 
ROWED ME TO COPPER MOUNTAIN. HAVE BEEN LAID UP THERE IN 
MOUNTAINEER’S CABIN WITH NO COMMUNICATION OUTSIDE 
WORLD ON ACCOUNT OF STORM. FINISHED WORK AT MOUNTAIN. 
JUST ARRIVED KETCHIKAN. ALL RIGHT NOW. HOME IN FOUR 
DAYS. LOVE TO YOU AND MOTHER. RICHARD. 

* 

Eleanor and her mother both wept for joy. Then Eleanor 
said: 

“Call up Blakeman right away, because, of course, he 
won’t want to sail now that Richard is all right. I hope that 
this will be a lesson to all of us. I can tell you one thing, 
mother, he won’t get away from home again on such a wild 
goose enterprise.” 

It wouldn’t have been easy for even a keen observer to tell 
whether the members of Radcliffe’s own household or Roger 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 

Blakeman felt the most happiness at the good news of Rich¬ 
ard’s safety. 

Young Blakeman was a self-made, self-educated young 
man, who had worked his way through the State University; 
been admitted to the bar, and then accepted a clerkship in 
Radcliffe’s office, with the idea of some day becoming a junior 
partner. He was extremely loyal to the highest interests of 
his employer, and he worked as diligently and conscientiously 
as though he, himself, were entirely responsible for the success 
of Radcliffe’s practice. 

Richard found a hearty welcome, when he arrived home. 
In her heart, Eleanor was grateful that nothing really serious 
had happened. She and her mother were both at the steamer 
to meet him. They had the dinner well under way before they 
left the house, and they left it in charge of a faithful Swedish 
girl, whom Eleanor had recently engaged as an all-around 
maid. 

For a long time previous to this, Richard had insisted 
that Eleanor should have a maid, but she had always protested 
that it would be foolish; until now, when she had nearly col¬ 
lapsed under the nervous strain of the suspense, due to Rich¬ 
ard’s misfortune. In any event, she knew that she could not 
go through the events of the ensuing months, without a servant. 

“I didn’t mind so much having my leg thrown out of 
joint as I did worrying you girls, while I was at Copper 
Mountain. That was a real tragedy; but I had no way of 
getting any word to you,!’ apologized Richard, as he stepped 
off the steamer and greeted affectionately Eleanor and her 
mother, before he grasped warmly Roger Blakeman’s hand. 

Eleanor felt better about the whole situation, after Richard 
had explained that the prospects for the development of Cop- 

m 


A Warning to Wives 


per Mountain were well worth while, and would no doubt 
lead to something of important consequences. 

11 There is no doubt but that there is a very deep vein of 
copper. I am going to send an expert geologist up there very 
soon, to make a full report. Some of the samples, which I 
brought back with me, I showed to a mining engineer at 
Ketchikan, who pronounced them to be the very highest grade 
specimens of ductile, malleable, reddish copper,’ ’ Richard told 
Eleanor and her mother and Blakeman, at the dinner table 
that evening, for Richard had insisted that Blakeman should 
accompany them home. 

“Well, I hope you get something for all your hard work; 
but I would never again go through all the hardships and 
worry which I have experienced, for a million tons of copper, 
or a hundred million barrels of gold,” remarked Eleanor. 

“You are very extravagant in your statements,” laugh¬ 
ingly answered Richard. “A few tons of copper, or even a 
barrel of gold or so, would fix things up for us, so that we 
should never have any material things to worry about.” 

“Well, I hope that everything will come out all right; 
but let the geologists and the mining engineers do the work, 
because you’re not going to get away from home again on any 
such pioneering,” said Eleanor emphatically. 

In a few days, Eleanor’s mother left for home, and during 
the following weeks, there was, in a measure, a renewal of 
the old-time affection between Richard Radcliffe and his wife. 
Richard was ever thoughtful of her comfort and bestowed 
upon Eleanor every kindness, of which a big human heart is 
capable. He provided for all her material wants in such a 
generous manner, that he continually brought forth from her 
vehement protests for his extravagance. He anticipated all 
her needs, and even went so far as to insist that she should 

[ 70 ] 


A Little Fire Kindleth a Great Matter 

take an afternoon nap every day, and a drive after luncheon, 
whenever the weather was favorable. 

Richard’s tenderness could not help but awaken Eleanor’s 
appreciation and stimulate her to some sense of gratitude; 
although, most of the time, she was rather colorless in her 
expressions of thankfulness, and very undemonstrative in her 
affections. Richard took this all good-naturedly and attrib¬ 
uted Eleanor’s apparent indifference at times, to the delicacy 
of her condition. 

As the time approached when she should bring to him an 
heir, his expressions of warmth and demonstrations of tender¬ 
ness increased. Finally, when the hour of her travail was at 
hand, and the most experienced physicians and surgeons in 
Obstetrics were present, to see that there should be no omis¬ 
sion, scientific, or otherwise, in the care of Eleanor, Richard 
assured her that he would not leave the house for several days, 
— in fact, not until she was perfectly willing that he should 
return to the affairs of his office. 

As the most critical period preceding the birth of her 
child came upon her, she appealed to the ministering surgeon 
closest at hand, to increase the amount of ether, — the anaes¬ 
thetic, which was being used to alleviate her suffering. 

Doctor Godfrey shook his head, but Eleanor insisted. 
Then he turned to the assisting physician, Doctor Bradshaw, 
who quite agreed with Doctor Godfrey, that it would be im¬ 
practical and dangerous to the life and vitality of the child, 
if the mother were to be deprived of any more of her strength, 
by increasing the amount of the anaesthetic. 

Eleanor was so insistent that Doctor Godfrey instructed 
one of the nurses to consult Mr. Radcliffe. When Richard 
came in, both Doctor Godfrey and Doctor Bradshaw shook 

[ 71 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

their heads meaningly, and Doctor Godfrey whispered to 
Richard: 

“If Mrs. Radcliffe can only make up her mind to endure 
for a few minutes the intensity of pain which she is now suf¬ 
fering, without the administration of any more ether, both 
she and the child will come through this splendidly; but if 
she insists on taking more ether, she will come out all right, of 
course, but she will not be able to help herself so much and it 
will really imperil the life of the child. At least, it will de¬ 
preciate the child’s vitality and strength right at the begin¬ 
ning, when it will need it most. We have said all that we can 
and we think, perhaps, that if you will speak to her it will 
make some difference,” concluded Doctor Godfrey 

“No, I shall leave it entirely to her; she may do whatever 
she wishes in the matter,” said Richard, with finality. 

Eleanor cried out so appealingly and insistently for the 
ether, that the physicians administered it; — much against 
their better judgment. 

In a few minutes it was all over. The child, a boy, gave 
its first cry, as he came into the world, and the first cry proved 
to be the last one, for he lived only about a half-hour. 

When Doctor Godfrey and Doctor Bradshaw entered the 
waiting room, adjoining Eleanor’s luxurious private suite of 
rooms in the hospital, Richard sat with his head bowed be¬ 
tween his arms, — in deep, silent grief, — reflecting upon the 
irreparable tragedy, which had just overtaken him, and ap¬ 
parently, a tragedy not of necessity, but a tragedy which had 
come into his life through Eleanor’s refusal to bear the 
extreme pangs and excessive physical discomfort during the 
most crucial moments of child-birth. 


[ 72 ] 


CHAPTER Y 


Their Fifth Anniversary 

I THINK I’ll go home for awhile. I’m getting very 
anxious to see father and mother. I think I’ll plan to 
stay with them about three months,” said Eleanor to 
Richard, a few weeks after the death of their infant son. 

No one could have been more considerate of another than 
Richard had been of Eleanor, during her recent illness and 
convalescence. Notwithstanding all of Richard’s magna¬ 
nimity, a strange psychological reaction had passed over him. 
For many weeks he had been thinking many things, which he 
did not say. His deliberate meditations included numerous 
sober reflections, concerning the attitude which Eleanor had 
taken at the time of the baby’s birth. He was beginning to 
take stock of all that had occurred. Up to this time, during 
their married life, he had been prone to take more than his 
just share of responsibility, whenever the relations between 
him and his wife became at all strained. He had been in¬ 
clined to blame himself too much. Now, he was beginning 
to react to all the self-imposed accusations which he had 
made against himself. He was continually turning over 
matters in his own mind, without discussing them with any 
one. If there was any one subject in all the world on which 
Richard Radcliffe was more reticent than any other, it was 
that of his married life. He began to feel that he had done 
everything within his power to lay the foundation for 

[ 73 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


happiness and contentment in his marital relations. He 
justified himself in the belief that he had an innate capacity 
for loyalty and sustained affection, and that he had bestowed 
upon his wife, in its virginity, the very flower of his man¬ 
hood, — the best that was in him to give; — perhaps there 
were others, he conceded to himself, who would be capable 
of giving more, — but in his heart of hearts he doubted it. 
He reviewed the whole situation over and over again. Ever 
since the baby’s death, his demonstrations of affection for 
Eleanor had lacked something of their former warmth and 
spontaneity. He certainly was much less effusive than he 
had been during his early married days, and he had poured 
out less freely his tenderest emotions toward Eleanor in the 
last few weeks, than he had during the period preceding the 
birth of thir child. He was undergoing such strenuous, sober 
second thought, in forming his recent conclusions concerning 
his matrimonial experience, that he was in a rather receptive 
mood at the time when Eleanor made the suggestion to him, 
in regard to her proposed visit to her parents. 

4 ‘Undoubtedly you will gain your strength back again 
much more rapidly at home with your mother than you will 
here, where you have the responsibility of looking after the 
house. It will do you good to meet all your old friends once 
more, and to have the opportunity to be with your sisters, 
after so long a separation. Freida will be able to look after 
my simple wants. In fact, I think she is a very intelligent 
girl; — so you won’t have to worry about me at all. Besides, 
I enjoy very much going to the Olympic Club to dine or to 
lunch. I always meet agreeable associates there, some of 
whom throw considerable business my way. While you are 
in the East, I can drop in there, occasionally, for a game of 
bridge in the evening. I find that it is not a bad idea for a 

[ 74 ] 




Their Fifth Anniversary 

lawyer to be able to mix with his comrades in a bridge game. 
I used to play a good deal at the Fraternity house when I was 
in the University, and then, too, I played quite often in 
Washington when I lived there, especially at the Lawyers’ 
Club. Since I came out here I have fallen off somewhat in the 
fine points of the game, because of lack of practice, but re¬ 
cently, I have played a good many times during the lunch 
hour, so that I am gradually picking up some of my old-time 
ability, both in finesse and bidding,” concluded Richard. 

4 ‘Well, but you don’t play for money, do you?” 

“The losers in the game always pay for the luncheon 
for the winners,” quickly responded Richard. 

“But, of course, that is the same as gambling,” retorted 
Eleanor. “I don’t think you ought to cheapen yourself by 
gambling on your ability at cards to pay for your luncheon; 
— besides, I have always disapproved of the principle of 
gambling in any form, and I wish you wouldn’t do it any 
more, ’ ’ concluded Eleanor, in a plaintive tone of voice. 

“Well, just how would you expect me to spend all my 
evenings while you are away?” queried Richard. 

“Well, certainly not in gambling,” replied Eleanor, with 
emphasis. “I should think, with all the new books that 
you’ve been buying during the past few months, that you 
could find enough to do reading them evenings, wdiile I am 
gone,” she continued. 

“No doubt I shall read a great deal, but I see no possible 
harm in spending an evening now and then, playing bridge 
for a sufficient stake to add a little interest and spice to the 
game,” he went on. 

“Providing it is only now and then, but I still insist 
that the habit of gambling in any manner is a very per¬ 
nicious one; and I believe that if you allow yourself to be- 

[ 75 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


come absorbingly interested in gambling at bridge or any¬ 
thing else, that it is very likely to win you away from 
concentrated effort and diligent application to other more 
worth-while and necessary pursuits, —such as greater knowl¬ 
edge of the law and the highest skill in its practice/’ con¬ 
cluded Eleanor, with an air of finality and positive assur¬ 
ance. 

i 1 Well, I’ll have to take issue with you there. I think 
there is no game which will help so much to improve the 
memory and to increase one’s quickness of perception as 
bridge; and as for gambling — well, you helped to sell 
chances on all the home-made articles of finery, which you 
worked your fingers off to get ready for the Ladies’ Bazaar 
last spring, didn’t you?” 

“Oh, don’t be foolish, Richard. Any dub could see that 
that is not a parallel case. What has a Ladies’ Bazaar to 
do with a sensible man’s gambling away his life and time at 
a Club of men, who are nearly all rich and retired? I 
wouldn’t think that such a practice by a young man would 
attract clients, especially, older men, who are sure to notice 
a lawyer, who in the prime of his young manhood wastes his 
time and idles away his opportunities, gambling at cards with 
more experienced men who have already accumulated for¬ 
tunes,” concluded Eleanor. 

“Oh, well, what’s the use of talking about it? Who said 
that only older men played bridge at the Club ? As a matter 
of fact, a great many of the young men play as much as the 
older ones. I don’t know what form of amusement you 
would provide for the mental relaxation of a tired lawyer, 
worn out at the end of a tedious, trying case at court,” re¬ 
marked Richard, rather impatiently. 

[ 76 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 

“Relaxation! Recreation! Why, aren’t there all kinds 
of sports, such as tennis and golf ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, but one can’t indulge in outdoor sports in this 
abominable weather, and besides, such sports are not played 
or indulged in at night,” answered Richard, with increasing 
petulance. 

“Well, of course, in the evening one can go to the 
theatre or motion pictures, or stay at home and enjoy good 
books,” commented Eleanor. 

“Yes, but you don’t approve of hardly any of the amuse¬ 
ments or theatrical productions, which are presented here,” 
interjected Richard. 

“Well, of course not. Who wants to spend their time 
sitting through some highly emotional, over-drawn, tragically 
exaggerated piece of melodrama, such as one sees nowa¬ 
days ? ’ ’ 

“Then if we eliminate most of the present day motion 
picture dramas and the average show acted on the legitimate 
stage, we shall have left only the pastime of sitting at home 
in the evenings, indulging ourselves in highbrow reading 
matter, according to your notions,” ejaculated Richard. 

“Who said anything about highbrow reading matter? 
I’m sure I didn’t,” snappily replied Eleanor. 

“Well, you don’t like George Ade. You don’t care for 
Elbert Hubbard, or Irvin Cobb, and I’ve never heard you ex¬ 
press much enthusiasm for Mark Twain,” answered Richard, 
in a tone of voice which indicated that he was on the home 
stretch of the rebuttal. 

“No, I don’t care for any of those writers whom you 
just mentioned, but there is plenty of literature not to be 
classified under the caption of highbrow, as you say, which is 
very entertaining and, at the same time, it is not lacking in 

[ 77 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


dignity; while it has something more in it to sustain interest 
than mere cynicism or humor, at the expense of well- 
meaning, sensitive people, whose feelings and sensibilities 
should be regarded by those who lay claim to superior gifts 
of expression.” 

“Well, I guess you’re right,” answered Richard, as he 
yawned, in a manner which indicated that he was ready to 
give up the argument. 

In about ten days, Eleanor left for her home in the East. 
The Worthington-IIargreaves family sailed for Europe. 
Richard had charge of Hargreaves’ affairs at home while 
the latter was abroad. 

A short time before, a party of expert engineers and 
geologists had returned from their investigation of the mine 
at Copper Mountain. They reported that the copper deposits 
were very extensive, and that the presence of the product 
in commercial quantities would be a big thing, not only for 
the Hargreaves’ estate, but for the entire community of 
Mount Olypmic, which would be the outfitting station for 
all the commodities which would be sent into Alaska to 
bring the copper out, and it would be the center of all 
industrial activities, after the copper was brought out. 

Before Hargreaves took passage for Europe, he arranged 
to leave a substantial sum of money for financing the Copper 
Mountain Development Company, and he gave to Richard 
Radcliffe a full Power of Attorney to go ahead with matters. 

The chief of the engineering staff, which had just com¬ 
pleted its investigations, reported that there was a contigu¬ 
ous vein of copper extending in another direction than did 
the big deposit at Copper Mountain. It happened, however, 
that this latter deposit was located on a claim which had 
been taken up by an Eastern pioneer a few years before. As 

[ 78 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 

soon as Richard Radcliffe was informed of this, he lost no 
time in locating the owner, who, fortunately, had come down 
to Mount Olympic on another business matter. When Rad¬ 
cliffe approached him, in regard to selling his property near 
Copper Mountain, without reservation of mineral rights, 
Henry Bevins, who owned the land adjacent to Hargreaves’ 
mine, gave the impression that he was not anxious to sell, 
but after a good bit of finesse on Radcliffe’s part, Bevins 
became more amenable to the reasoning of his prospective 
purchaser. Richard made him see that it was an enormous 
undertaking to capitalize the development of such a project, 
and that there was always a great element of risk and un¬ 
certainty in such matters. Finally, they reached a verbal 
agreement, in regard to the price for which Bevins’ land 
should be transferred to Hargreaves’ estate. 

Richard went back to his office, thinking that the matter 
had been fully settled; but the following day, Bevins re¬ 
turned, with the startling news that he had been offered a 
larger sum of money by a copper mining promoter, who had 
been the dominating power in the development of the famous 
Hecla Mines in Michigan. Richard at once reminded Bevins 
of his promise of the previous day, but Bevins was evasive 
and gave Radcliffe to understand that since there was no 
written contract between them, he did not consider himself 
bound. At the same time, Bevins assured Radcliffe that he 
would give him the preference, in the event that Radcliffe 
would pay the same amount of money as that already offered 
by the Hecla buyer. Richard asked for twenty-four hours’ 
time, in which to give his decision, which Bevins granted, 
because the cards were all in his own hands now, and he had 
only to hold out for the largest possible price which he could 
get. 


[ 79 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


As soon as Richard was free, he made confidential in¬ 
quiries by wire, through one of his old Fraternity friends, now 
a banker in Detroit, as to the authenticity of the proposition 
which Bevins claimed had been made to him. Meanwhile, 
Radcliffe was negotiating with his own bank, in order to 
raise a sufficient sum of money for the purchase of Bevins ’ 
property. He had already had access to the funds which 
Hargreaves had left with him for the Development Company, 
but this sum of money was inadequate for his present pur¬ 
poses. He cabled to Hargreaves, but was unable to locate 
him through his foreign bankers, who reported that Har¬ 
greaves was somewhere in the Lakes of Switzerland. 

As soon as the telegram from Richard’s Detroit friend 
arrived, announcing that the offer from the Hecla promoters 
was a bona fide one, Radcliffe knew that he had to make a 
quick turn. He took all the available collateral, which he 
had on hand and went back to the President of the First 
National Bank of Mount Olympic. This collateral repre¬ 
sented not only a big part of the securities which Hargreaves 
had left in his Safe Deposit Vault, which Radcliffe was 
authorized to use, but it represented, as well, all the personal 
securities in stocks and bonds, which Radcliffe had on hand. 

The President of the bank, Radford Murdock by name, 
was more of a pawn-broker than he was a banker. He never 
failed to take an advantage of a borrower, wherever he could. 
He had grown rich by freezing out many business men, whose 
fortunes had taken only a temporarily bad turn. Murdock 
was one of those men like Shakespeare’s Cassius, who had 
“a lean and hungry look, thinks too much and is dangerous.” 
He was tall, pale, flat-chested, with nervous gray eyes and 
wrinkled skin. His hands were thin;— wiry and long¬ 
fingered. 


[ 80 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 

Radcliffe did not underestimate the difficulties which he 
would encounter in securing the loan from Murdock, at a 
reasonable rate of interest. He knew that Murdock would 
take all that the law would allow, and that, at best, he could 
get only a short time loan for such an amount as he required; 
but, in any event, Radcliffe would be able to make some kind 
of a turn as soon as he could get into touch with Hargreaves, 
which would enable him to pay off this obligation at the 
bank, within thirty or sixty days. 

The security which Radcliffe presented to Murdock was 
gilt-edged in every particular. Finally, he induced the 
banker to make a loan of two hundred thousand dollars at 
ten per cent for thirty days, with the confidential under¬ 
standing that Murdock was to receive a five thousand dollar 
cash bonus, which he subtracted from the face of the note 
and took in advance, at the time he made the loan. 

Immediately after Radcliffe closed the transaction with 
Bevins, Richard started for Alaska again, with a party of 
men who were contemplating becoming stock-holders in the 
Hargreaves’ mine. They spent nearly a month prospecting 
with a company of engineers, the progress of whose work 
was impeded by inclement weather. In his calculations, 
Radcliffe gave himself plenty of time to get back to Mount 
Olympic before his note at the bank should come due. As a 
matter of fact, he had put up fifty thousand dollars of his 
own securities, — all he had in the world, — representing 
all the money which he had saved by his law practice and 
accumulated through his investments in Hargreaves’ big 
timber and lumber enterprises. 

Radcliffe and his prospecting companions returned to 
Ketchikan just in time for the out-going steamer on which 
they had booked reservations; but, to their surprise, the 

[ 81 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


ship was late in getting in from Skagway. It had been 
caught in a dense fog on the way down between Petersburg 
and Wrangell. This delayed it more than two days, so that 
the steamer was more than fifty hours late, when it sailed 
from Ketchikan. Richard was worried, for he knew Murdock 
to be a hard old tyrant, and what made matters worse, the 
three days of grace heretofore allowed on promissory notes 
had been abolished some time before, by an act of the State 
Legislature. 

According to his plans, Richard was prepared to cancel 
his entire indebtedness at the Bank. Several representative 
men, who had accompanied him on his recent trip to Alaska, 
had bought a goodly amount of stock in the copper mine; 
and besides this, he knew that by this time, additional funds 
from Hargreaves’ New York and European Bankers would 
be at his disposal as soon as he returned home. 

Immediately after the ship was docked at Mount Olym¬ 
pic, at ten o’clock in the morning, after three days’ voyage 
from Ketchikan, Richard made his way up town, with 
hurried steps, to his office. His faithful clerk, Roger Blake- 
man, told him at once that the First National Bank had been 
telephoning to the office. 

“Didn’t you get my telegram from Ketchikan to pay 
the note?” queried Richard excitedly. 

“Yes, but I had nothing to pay it with,” answered 
Blakeman. 

‘‘ What ? Haven’t you had any news from Hargreaves ? ’ ’ 
questioned Richard, his excitement increasing. 

“Only a cable, stating that more money would be here 
by the middle of this month. Your message to Hargreaves 
was so delayed in reaching him that he was unable to take 
action any sooner,” replied Blakeman. 

[ 82 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 

“The middle of the month. Well, today is the fifteenth, 
so the money should come in today or tomorrow/’ said 
Richard, with rising hopes of meeting the irate Murdock tri¬ 
umphantly. 

“Yes, I take it that way,” said Blakeman quietly. 

“Did you tell the bank that I was coming home on this 
boat?” inquired Richard. 

“Yes, but that did not seem to satisfy them. They 
seemed very anxious. It was Mr. Murdock’s secretary tele¬ 
phoning. I am inclined to think that they have taken 
advantage of you. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Murdock 
has sold your securities,” declared Blakeman, “but you know 
I couldn’t help it.” 

“If he’s sold those securities- 

he’ll rue the day he did it,” shouted Radcliffe, as he rushed 
out of the door. 

On Richard’s way to the bank, he stopped for a moment 
to speak with Curtis Dwyer, a friend of his, who conducted 
a hardware store on the main street. Then he went on to 
see Murdock. 

As Radcliffe entered the office of the President of the 
First National Bank, he was conscious of a very chilly 
sensation in the region of his vertebrae. 

“Good morning, Mr. Murdock,” he exclaimed. 

The President nodded in a cold, reserved manner, which 
said in no uncertain terms, “Your delay is unpardonable. 
What have you to say about it?” 

But before Murdock spoke aloud, Radcliffe said, in a 
quiet, firm tone: “I have come in to pay my note. I am sorry 
for this little delay, but it was unavoidable, on account of 
the fogs which delayed our vessel on its way down from 
Skagway.” 


[ 83 ] 




A Warning to Wives 


“Well, of course we couldn’t be expected to make any 
allowance for that. I waited until yesterday afternoon and 
then closed out your securities to liquidate the note,” replied 
Murdock, while he bit his lip nervously. 

“You sold those securities in this depressed market, 
when you knew that everything in stocks and bonds was on 
the bottom! You sold them, did you? Well, even in this 
kind of a market you must have obtained a goodly amount 
in excess of the face of my note, for it was liberally col¬ 
lateralized,” ejaculated Richard. 

“No, there was nothing left, after I figured the interest, 
due the bank, protest charges, and so forth. You know the 
market is very dull,” concluded the banker, gravely. 

Radcliffe knew Murdock so well that he doubted whether 
so shrewd a bargainer would dispose of such valuable securi¬ 
ties at rock-bottom prices. He thought it was more likely that 
Murdock had tucked the stocks and bonds away in his own 
vaults and paid the bank the note with his own cash reserves. 
In any event, Richard did not propose to deal with Murdock 
in any milk and water fashion. Instead, he looked calmly 
around the room until he was sure that he was quite alone 
with the banker. 

Then he very coolly took from his pocket a thirty-eight 
calibre Colt revolver, and said: 

“You give me back my securities and let me pay this 
note, or there’ll be a funeral in this town tomorrow and I 
won’t ride in the hearse.” 

Murdock, in a spirit of cowardly resignation, realizing 
that his bluff had been called, opened the private safe which 
stood at the right of his desk, and brought forth the package 
of securities belonging to Richard Radcliffe. 

Radcliffe then took from his pocket his bill-fold, con- 

[ 84 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 


taining a certified check, which represented the bank roll 
which had come into his hands from the new stockholders in 
the Copper Mountain Mine, and some additional bills which 
he had just borrowed from Curtis Dwyer on his way to the 
bank, when he stopped to purchase the revolver. 

Radcliffe had had no intention of shooting Murdock, for 
he knew the latter to be one of the biggest cowards on earth; 
but he had made up his mind that he would have restored to 
him the hard earned securities, which represented the best 
efforts of his brain, heart and soul, since he had begun the 
practice of law. 

Radcliffe presented to Murdock the check with which to 
liquidate the bank-note, which Murdock surrendered to him 
along wdth Richard’s collateral. 

When Richard arose to go, he concluded his interview 
with Murdock, by saying: 

“If you had been born a country boy instead of a city 
bred man with advantages, you would, no doubt, have turned 
out to be a bandit of the plains. I have no more respect for 
you, in spite of your exalted position, than I have for an 
ordinary train robber or hold-up man. Let it be understood 
in future that our relations are at an end. I shall close my 
own account at this bank immediately, and at the same time, 
I am exercising my authority conferred upon me by a full 
Power of Attorney to withdraw at this time, also the account 
of Worthington-Hargreaves. Good-morning, sir.” 

The exciting events of Radcliffe’s visit to Murdock, cul¬ 
minating in the abrupt withdrawal of Worthington-Har¬ 
greaves ’ account, constituted the biggest jolt in Murdock s 
cold-blooded career, because Hargreaves’ father before him 
had made Murdock President of the First National Bank, and 
the Hargreaves’ bank balance had, for many years, been 

[ 85 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


the most substantial factor in carrying the bank along in the 
early period of its existence. At this very time, Humphrey 
Worthington-Hargreaves was a prominent director of the 
bank, and he was always consulted with reference to all 
important matters, in connection with the affairs of the 
institution. However Murdock did not know of the Power of 
Attorney which Hargreaves had issued to Radcliffe before 
the former sailed for Europe. Neither did he know to what 
extent Hargreaves’ most vital business matters were inter¬ 
twined with those of Richard Radcliffe. He only knew that 
Radcliffe had, in recent years, served as attorney for Har¬ 
greaves, but Murdock’s supreme egotism and highly exagger¬ 
ated idea of his own importance, had so intoxicated him with 
a dominating sense of power, that he had over-reached him¬ 
self in his despicable treatment of Radcliffe. 

When Radcliffe returned to his office, after his contro¬ 
versy with Murdock, Blakeman met him with the joyful news 
that some advices had just come in the foreign mail from 
Hargreaves, with enclosures of such value that they would 
serve to cover all of the present obligations of the Copper 
Mountain Development Company. 

* 4 Hereafter, Roger,” said Richard, “we will do our 
banking at the Olympic National Bank, so you may go over 
and deposit these funds there. I have just transferred our 
personal account, and also Hargreaves’ accounts to that 
institution.” 

There was, in Radcliffe’s office, a very capable young 
woman, by the name of Helen Hammond. She had begun 
her business career as his stenographer, nearly five years be¬ 
fore, when he had first opened his law office in Mount Olym¬ 
pic. Miss Hammond was a graduate of the State University 
and she had supplemented her college training by a course 

[ 86 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 


of study for one year in Commerce, Accounts and Finance in 
the School of Business Administration. Her services had 
proven invaluable to Radcliffe. By this time, she could pre¬ 
pare a brief as well as either Blakeman or Radcliffe. 

The business of the office had increased so greatly dur¬ 
ing the past two years, that Miss Hammond now acted as 
personal secretary to Radcliffe, who had given her an 
assistant, who served as general stenographer. 

Miss Hammond took as much interest in Richard Rad- 
cliff e’s career as it is possible for any woman to have in the 
success of her employer. She was inordinately ambitious for 
him; — not only that he should win every case, which was 
put into his hands, but also, that he should achieve a place 
of importance in the financial world. More than this, she 
entertained for him, certain political aspirations, and she 
had often urged him to go into politics, after he had accumu¬ 
lated a sufficient fortune to remove him from the possible 
slanders and temptations of public life. 

Indeed, Miss Hammond’s interest in Richard Radcliffe 
had been more of an inspiration to him, than he liked to 
admit. He was always glad to talk with her, because she 
always had something worth while to say and to suggest. 
Her confidence in Radcliffe’s ability had served as no small 
incentive to his present list of achievements. 

When he was alone, he often found himself secretly 
wishing that his wife had some of Miss Hammond’s under¬ 
standing. He recalled the time when he had prepared to 
argue the demurrer in his first case for Lem Simpkins. He 
had talked it all over with Miss Hammond and she had given 
him much valuable information, concerning the mental 
processes of the Prosecuting Attorney, Robert Dunne, so that 
Radcliffe had been able to anticipate just about what Dunne 

[ 87 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


would do. Then, there was the memorable case of Red 
Feather Alki, for the trial of which Radcliffe had worked 
day after day and night after night, with Miss Hammond 
always at his right hand, to help him to assemble facts, 
which would bring out the necessary evidence to prove the 
innocence of his client. After that, there had been the case 
of the Widow Gaylord, who had found it necessary to break 
the will of her husband, who had attempted to cut her off 
with little, and to leave the bulk of his fortune to the 
children of his first wife. It happened that Miss Hammond 
knew the family history of the Gaylords so well, that she was 
able to put Radcliffe in possession of such important facts, 
that it made it much easier for him to establish the widow’s 
just claims. 

And so matters had gone on. There was the case of Mr. 
Avery, the ship-builder, who had been almost ruined by the 
failure of some big contractors to deliver materials to him 
at the time agreed upon. Radcliffe won Avery’s case and 
secured a large sum of money for Mr. Avery for this breach 
of contract, but he knew in his own mind that he could never 
have accomplished this, had it not been for Miss Hammond’s 
unstinted assistance for many evenings of over-time work 
before the case came to trial. And, ever since Hargreaves’ 
affairs had been managed so skilfully by Radcliffe, Miss 
Hammond had kept her ever vigilant eye keenly alert to all 
the details bearing upon the successful management of the 
enterprises of the capitalist, who had placed his most im¬ 
portant business matters in her employer’s hands. 

In fact, Miss Hammond had refused to take a vacation 
for the last two years, because she had never seen a time 
when she could “safely get away,” as she expressed it. Her 
strenuous tasks were already beginning to tell upon her. 

[ 88 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 


Radcliffe and Blakeman had both insisted that she needed 
a rest, and Richard had himself suggested, that she should 
either go East, or take a trip to California, at the expense 
of the office. Miss Hammond had only said, in response to 
these proposals: “Well wait and see. Ill do it later when 
things clear up a little. ” 

About two months after Radcliffe had returned from 
his recent trip to Alaska, he was dictating to Miss Hammond 
a lengthy report for the stockholders of the Copper Mountain 
Development Company, when all of a sudden, her pencil 
refused to work. She fainted and fell from her chair before 
Radcliffe could rescue her. The other girl in the office soon 
came to Miss Hammond’s assistance, with a camphor bottle. 
Miss Hammond rallied, hut Radcliffe insisted that she should 
go home at once. He felt conscience-stricken that he had 
been so careless as to permit Miss Hammond to go so far 
beyond her strength. He immediately summoned a closed 
car and told her that he was going to take her home himself, 
remarking as he did so: “And then I’ll know you’re there. 
Don’t dare show up at this office again until you have had a 
good rest at home and a vacation trip so far away that you 
can’t hear anything about what’s going on here.” 

No sooner had Richard left the office with Miss Ham¬ 
mond, than a telegram for him was delivered, which Roger 
Blakeman opened. It read: 

MEET ME TWO FORTY FIVE TRAIN TODAY ELEANOR. 

“It’s two-thirty now, so he won’t be able to make it,” 
remarked Blakeman to the stenographer, “I’d go myself 
only I have this contract, which must go out on the three- 
fifteen mail, and I must take it to the post-office. Besides, 

[ 89 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Mrs. Radcliffe will find her way home all right and I 
shouldn’t know exactly how to explain the situation to her. 
Better let Radcliffe do that himself, I guess. It’s hard to 
make explanations for another man and the more I see of 
married men, the better satisfied I am that I am a bachelor. I 
feel like the priest who said to his clerical brother: ‘ Commend 
a wedded life; but keep thyself a bachelor’,” concluded 
Blakeman, who took every opportunity that he could to prove 
that he was on the defensive, when he was talking to little 
Miss Jinks, the petite, dainty, little girl, who was Miss 
Hammond’s assistant, and who spent a good deal of her time 
primping and applying the contents of her vanity case, when 
she wasn’t reading the Echoes of Screenland, or when she 
thought no one was observing her. 

“Well, you needn’t worry, for I don’t want to marry 
you. I’m going into the movies,” Miss Jinks assured Blake¬ 
man, with a self-satisfied air. This, too, when it will be 
remembered that the movies were in the early stages of 
their modern development. 

Blakeman hurriedly folded the contract, placed it in the 
envelope, put on his hat, and started for the post-office. 

Just as he was going out the door, a fashionably dressed 
blonde woman entered the office. She inquired for Mr. Rad¬ 
cliffe, but Miss Jinks informed her that he was out and 
would not be back for perhaps, an hour. 

“Yes, I saw him driving with Miss Hammond in a 
limousine, about half an hour ago; but I thought surely he’d 
be back by this time. He’s settling my father’s estate. I’m 
Mrs. Robert Compton. I live next door to Mr. and Mrs. 
Radcliffe. Do you know when Mrs. Radcliffe is coming 
home?” queried the busy Mrs. Compton, who never missed 

[ 90 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 

a trick when it came to gathering news, concerning her 
friends or friends ’ friends. 

Miss Jinks, who lacked Miss Hammond’s discretion in 
such matters, replied: 

“Yes, she’s coming home on the two-forty-five train 
today. We just had a telegram, but Mr. Radcliffe won’t be 
able to go to meet her because Miss Hammond was just taken 
ill in the office. She had a fainting spell and Mr. Radcliffe 
didn’t want to send her home alone, so he went with her. 
Dear me, I hope she didn’t faint again on the way home.” 

Edith Compton was secretly delighted at this little piece 
of news. She had always envied Eleanor Radcliffe her 
ideal husband, because Robert Compton was a very different 
kind of man, who played with life very recklessly and gave 
his wife little of his time or attention, so that she was 
obliged to amuse herself with piffling pink teas, and other 
society functions, to which she was not altogether averse, 
but at the same time, she would have enjoyed a little more 
of her dashing husband’s devotion and companionship. 

“Well, it’s just two forty this minute,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Compton. “If I hurry I can meet Mrs. Radcliffe at the train 
myself. She’ll be ever so sorry to hear of Miss Hammond’s 
misfortune, I know, and I can just as well take Mrs. Radcliffe 
home in my own car.” 

Mrs. Compton lost no time in directing her chauffeur to 
hurry to the railroad station. 

The train was just on time. 

“What’s happened to Richard?” inquired Eleanor, al¬ 
most out of breath, when she saw Edith Compton. 

“Nothing at all. Not a thing,” positively asserted 
Edith. 


[ 91 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


“Yes there has, I know there has. Tell me the worst, the 
very worst,’’ insisted Eleanor, interrupting her. 

“Nothing, only Miss Hammond was taken ill in the 
office and Richard was afraid to let her go home alone, so 
he went with her,” explained Mrs. Compton, while she 
watched Eleanor’s face, to try to read her expression of 
utter disappointment when she learned that her husband 
was more interested in looking after the comfort of some 
other woman than he was in meeting his own wife at the 
train, after an absence of more than three months. 

But in spite of Eleanor’s impetuosity, she was too proud 
to admit her feelings to Edith Compton, so she merely said: 

“Well, it was very kind of you to come to meet me. Of 
course Richard knew that if he couldn’t come himself, that 
I would prefer to have you,” said Eleanor, smilingly. 

“0, he didn’t send me to meet you. I just happened 
in his office to consult him about some matters in connection 
with father’s estate, and the stenographer told me that he 
had gone to take Miss Hammond home and wouldn’t be able 
to meet you. It seems they had just received the telegram 
announcing your arrival. ’ ’ 

“Well, it must have been terribly delayed then, because 
I sent it more than three hours ago. I just happened to think 
that there was a possible chance that Richard would not 
have received the letter which I sent him the night before I 
left Washington. I mailed it that evening, but it is quite 
possible that it did not reach here ahead of me, although 
mother assured me it would, if I posted it in the box by our 
house,” concluded Eleanor. 

“I suppose, perhaps, you may be too tired to stop down 
town for tea. If you are, we’ll go right home, but if not, 
we’ll stop at Murray’s,” suggested Mrs. Compton. 

[ 92 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 


“No, I think I’d better be going on home. I’m getting 
anxious to see just how Freida has taken care of things,” 
answered Eleanor. 

As soon as Eleanor was alone, she began to reflect 
seriously, on the meaning of Richard’s conduct. Why should 
he take Miss Hammond home? Couldn’t Miss Jinks have 
done this? Or Blakeman? In fact it would have been 
better if Richard had summoned a physician, or sent for 
Miss Hammond’s mother. What did Richard mean by not 
coming to meet her? Surely the telegram or letter must 
have reached him about noon. Eleanor determined that she 
would find out more about his relations with Miss Hammond 
She could not believe that they were anything more than 
Platonic; but still, men were men, she thought. 

In the midst of her reflections, the telephone rang. It 
was Richard. 

“Hello, dear,” he said. 

“ Well! Is that you ? ’ ’ she responded. 

“You don’t know how sorry I am that I was not able 
to get to the station to meet you. I was out of the office for a 
little while and did not get your telegram until just this 
minute, when I came in. The postman has just brought your 
letter, too. I hope you’re all right. Are the folks in 
Washington all well?” 

“Yes, they’re all right. When are you coming home?” 
inquired Eleanor. She was too true to her breeding and 
traditions to open up any unpleasantness in a telephone con¬ 
versation. 

“Oh, I’ll be there right away. Just as soon as I can 
drive the car home. Good-bye,” replied Richard. 

There was a shadow of reserve in Eleanor’s eyes, when 
Richard kissed her, as soon as he entered the house. There 

[ 93 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


was a proudish curve on her lips, after she returned his 
kiss, half-heartedly. Then she said: 

“If you’re more interested in looking after Miss 
Hammond’s comfort than you are in coming to meet me, 
when I have been away from home for so long, I would like 
to have you, at least, take the pains to instruct your other 
stenographer not to reveal the fact to outsiders. I was quite 
humiliated to have Edith Compton meet me at the train 
with such a piece of news. I know that she just gloated in it. 
You evidently have become much devoted to Miss Hammond 
during my absence,” she said in a hurt tone. 

“Now, don’t be foolish. You know what a faithful 
worker Miss Hammond has always been. She looks out for 
that office and for my interests as no one else in the world 
could do, or would do, if they could. Naturally, I was very 
uneasy about her when she collapsed today. I don’t know 
how I should get along without her. I wanted to see her in 
safe hands and properly taken care of, before I left her, 
because she’s made herself sick over-working for me. You 
know she’s been with us five years now, the first of next 
month, ever since I opened my first office, — just a hole in 
the wall in the Beekman Building.” 

“Yes, I guess she’s been with you too long. There are 
lots of other girls who would do just as well, or even better, 
than she. 

“She’s too nervous for her work anyway. I’ve noticed 
it for more than a year. Besides, I don’t like the foolish 
idea which you have just expressed, — that you can’t get 
along without her, and that she’s indispensable to you. 
That’s all nonsense. I want you to get rid of her right 
away,” concluded Eleanor, in a voice which indicated clearly, 
that she meant what she said. 


[ 94 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 

“I’ll do nothing of the kind! I wouldn’t think of such 
a thing! What! Discharge Miss Hammond, after all these 
years of loyalty and hard work? Why you must he crazy!” 
ejaculated Richard, in a disgusted tone. 

“No, I mean exactly what I say. You must get rid of 
her. I don’t intend to stand for this,” replied Eleanor, her 
voice rising. 

“There is no woman in the world, not even you, who can 
tell me what I MUST do,” responded Richard firmly. 

“All right, I’ll go back to Washington,” answered 
Eleanor. 

“Well, you can do just as you like about that, too. I’ve 
been looking forward to your coming home. I hoped to get 
much happines out of seeing you again. It’s in your power 
to make our home either very happy or very miserable, and 
if you choose to make it happy, I want you to stay right 
here, but if you choose to make it miserable, I certainly 
don’t want you to stay here,” concluded Richard, with a 
decisiveness in his speech and manner which Eleanor had 
never before witnessed. 

Then Richard took from his inside coat pocket a long, 
black cigar, which he lighted and began to smoke, while 
he ostensibly read the evening paper. 

“So you’ve taken to smoking in the house, while I’ve 
been away, have you?” 

“Yes, I added that little luxury to my limited list of 
domestic privileges,” replied Richard sarcastically. 

‘ ‘ I detected the smell of smoke the moment that I entered 
the house. Of course, by this time all the sofa pillows, uphol¬ 
stering, rugs, bedding and clothing have become saturated with 
tobacco fumes. I suppose they are all utterly ruined. If 
you insist upon smoking in the house, why, the only thing 

[ 95 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


to do is to partition the sun-room and make a den, where you 
can indulge yourself in the tobacco habit, to which you have 
evidently become a slave, during my absence,” commented 
Eleanor. 

“No, if it is necessary to tear down, or rebuild the 
house, in order to have a little comfort in it, I will dismiss 
the idea of comfort,” remarked Richard, in a tone of finality. 

“Well, you used to take a walk, or sit out on the 
porch, whenever you wanted to smoke,” said Eleanor. 

“Yes, I know that I used to do that, but while you were 
away, I grew tired of chasing myself out-doors every time 
when I felt like enjoying myself, and so, I made up my mind 
that I would give myself a few special privileges for awhile. 
Now, I don’t feel like giving them up, especially since I 
slave away all the time at the office to keep up a home. I 
am beginning to feel that I have a right to enjoy the home 
for which I provide. I am perfectly willing that you should 
indulge yourself in any pastime or luxury which you wish, 
and I think that you should permit me the same liberty and 
indulgence. 

“You don’t realize the strain I am under constantly; it 
is tremendous; the only thing which I seem to be able to do 
to relieve my nervous tension is to smoke; that soothes my 
nerves, and temporarily, diverts my thoughts from the 
seriousness of my work,” concluded Richard. 

“I think you take both your law practice and business, 
too seriously,” replied Eleanor. 

“Possibly, but I must take things seriously during the 
early years of my practice, if I expect to achieve any marked 
degree of distinction.” 

“What sort of distinction do you mean?” inquired 
Eleanor. 


[ 96 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 


“Why a big reputation, — a prestige in my profession, 
which will put me in a class by myself ; — but I want to win 
this reputation entirely upon my own merits. I am willing 
to work hard, as I have always done. I not only want to 
become known as the best lawyer in this state, but I want 
to deserve to be known as one of the leading lawyers of the 
United States, and I can do it, too, if I keep on as I have 
begun, in the first few years of my practice /* concluded 
Richard, in a tone of determination. 

“I can’t see any sense in being just a sensational adver¬ 
tiser ; — in just being known. If a man has enough to keep 
him busy and makes sufficient money to warrant him a com¬ 
fortable old age, I can not see what else he should want,” 
commented Eleanor. 

“No, you don’t understand exactly what I am striving 
for. Maybe you’re right, though, in your opinion that a mod¬ 
erate degree of success should satisfy a man. I am not temper¬ 
amentally constituted, as you are. I can not be contented by 
placing any limitations upon myself, because I believe my¬ 
self capable of going just as far in achievement, as any other 
man in my profession,” concluded Richard, while he con¬ 
tinued to puff away on his choice Havana cigar. 

While Richard was discussing, or rather trying to dis¬ 
cuss with his wife, the possibilities of his future career, he 
was making many mental reservations associated very 
closely with his many conversations with Helen Hammond. 

Recently, Miss Hammond had been talking to him, more 
than ever, about the splendid future which she believed lay 
before him. She had often told him that he should become a 
Judge in the Federal Courts, and that if he were to go ahead 
and make this goal, he would some day be singled out and 
appointed to the United States Supreme Court bench. 

[ 97 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


“Or, if you think you would prefer political prefer¬ 
ment/ J she had said, “you ought to begin to lay your 
plans to become a candidate for either the House of Repre¬ 
sentatives or the United States Senate. 

“No one has a better gift for making friends and 
keeping them. You have the ability to organize men and 
women. You make a very fiery speech, based upon facts, 
and a sure ethical foundation, and you know how to illumi¬ 
nate your discourse by flashes of wit and humor, which 
make your delivery very magnetic; — so there is no reason 
why you shouldn’t go as far as you like,” concluded Helen 
Hammond, one day when a discussion had arisen in the 
office as to the merits and abilities of prospective candidates 
for Congress. 

All these encouraging suggestions from Helen Hammond 
helped to accentuate Richard Radcliffe’s self-confidence. 
Radcliffe had never been conceited. He lacked the attributes 
of egotism, which most men acquire if they are fortunate in 
winning early success. He had poise. He had common 
sense. Every bit of his self-confidence was justified by the 
measure of his splendid abilities. He had missed, from the 
beginning of his married life, the stimulus to his ambition, 
which he had always imagined that his wife would bring 
to him. During his courtship of Eleanor, she had fed his 
vanity in another way, by telling him often about his good 
looks, distinguished bearing and polished manners. He was 
so young then that all her praise of his personal appearance 
had flattered him and kept him in good humor; but since it 
had been necessary for him to struggle more, in the face of 
keen competition, to win recognition in a new pioneer 
country, he needed more encouragement and inspiration in 
his strenuous endeavors to achieve a superlative degree of 

[ 98 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 


success, and to make an individual place for himself, in 
keeping with his aspirations. 

On the day after her return home, while Eleanor was 
going about the house, setting some things to right, which 
Freida had neglected, she began to reflect on the incidents, 
which had followed her arrival, on the preceding day, 

Freida had told her that Richard had dined frequently 
at the Olympic Club, during her absence; that he had spent 
very few evenings at home. This piece of news had agitated 
Eleanor considerably. She wondered whether he had really 
spent so much time at the Club, or had he been giving some 
of his attention to Helen Hammond. After all, she reasoned, 
Richard had always told her the truth. She had absolute 
confidence in his veracity and integrity. As she continued 
to think matters over, she came to the conclusion that all 
he had'Said to her concerning his interest in Miss Hammond 
vibrated with sincerity. She felt quite sure, in her own 
mind, that she had misjudged him; — that she had been too 
hasty and impulsive in insisting that he should discharge 
Miss Hammond from his employ; — so she decided that she 
would say no more about this. As to Richard’s smoking in 
the house, she would call his attention to this again, when 
he was in more amiable mood than on the previous evening, 
because it was most offensive to her, that he should con¬ 
tinue to make a fumatory out of the house, which she had 
spent so much time to decorate and beautify. 

It occurred to Eleanor that the day of the fifth anniver¬ 
sary of her wedding would soon be at hand. She looked at 
the calendar. It was the following day. It would be a good 
time to make amends, she thought, for whatever little error 
she might have been responsible for, in her hasty remarks 
to Richard the day before. She conceded to herself that 

[ 99 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


she had been a little too impulsive; but at the same time, she 
had a way of always justifying herself in any course of 
action. She felt confident of her own worthiness. She be¬ 
lieved herself deserving of the attentions and earnest devo¬ 
tion of Richard. In fact, she thought, in her soberest 
moments, that she was really a much better wife to him 
than he was husband to her. She had retained this illusion, 
during her entire married life, because he had always been 
so indulgent and tolerant of her capricious moods, especially 
up to the time that their baby was born. Eleanor was 
conscious, in a way, that Richard had not been exactly the 
same, since the death of their infant son; but she attributed 
this change in him to his grief over the loss of their baby. 
She never for one instant accused herself of having been in 
the lease degree selfish in choosing for herself the easiest 
possible circumstances at the time of the child’s birth. It 
never occurred to Eleanor that she should ever sacrifice her¬ 
self for anything or anybody in the world. 

She had an indomitable pride, however, and she knew in 
her own mind that she would not suffer the humiliation of 
losing Richard’s affections to another woman for anything 
in the universe. She would guard against that always. She 
knew that Richard had first been attracted to her because 
of her good looks, her style and her extreme neatness in her 
wearing apparel and personal appearance. She would con¬ 
tinue to hold Richard’s interest, she thought, by that same 
natural beauty, tidiness of person and trimness in her ward¬ 
robe, which had first appealed to him. She admitted to her¬ 
self, reluctantly, that instead of growing closer together as 
husband and wife, they were growing, to a degree, farther 
apart. But then, she concluded, that this was no doubt the 
case with all marriages, — at least, with ninety-nine out of a 

[ 100 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 

hundred. What is the use, she thought, of keeping one's 
romantic enthusiasm at white heat all of the time? It would 
be too hard work. It was better anyway to maintain a certain 
reserve with her husband, so that he should never feel that 
he completely possessed and dominated her body and soul. 
She would, however, make a special effort to commemorate 
their fifth anniversary. 

With Freida’s assistance, she would prepare the best 
dinner that she had ever cooked and served, since they 
had kept house. And she did. There was nothing lacking 
in flavor, or delicacy, or quality, in this well-balanced, well- 
cooked meal. A fruit cocktail, made of the best and 
choicest pineapple, cantaloupe, oranges and berries, was 
first served. This was followed by a tender, well-roasted 
turkey, with sage and nut dressing, hot mashed potatoes, 
turkey gravy, corn on the cob, and combination salad. The 
dessert was baked Alaska, the first which Eleanor had ever 
attempted to make ; but Freida had explained to her that the 
woman by whom she had formerly been employed, had an 
excellent recipe for preparing this unusual dish. Freida had 
copied this formula, which Eleanor followed so carefully, 
with Freida’s advice, that the result was very successful. 
After the dessert was served, there were pecan meats, coffee 
and after dinner mints. 

Richard almost wished that their wedding anniversary 
might come oftener, if it were to be accompanied by such 
feats of culinary skill. 

Just as the coffee was being served, a late delivery 
wagon stopped at the Radcliffe residence, and a boy hur¬ 
riedly delivered a large, pasteboard box at the back door. 

Eleanor knew that she had not been shopping that day, 
outside of the general market places, and when the package 

[ 101 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


was delivered she surmised that it was something which 
Richard had ordered. But she did not attempt to open it 
until he said: 

“Something for you, my dear; open it whenever you are 
ready. ’ ’ 

Eleanor cut the knot in the string and when she opened 
the box, there was a marvellous creation of cream lace and 
pink chiffon. 

“Why this is the loveliest, most exquisite gown, I have 
ever had! How thoughtful of you! I shall be able to keep it 
for a long time. I go to so few places where a costume of 
this kind is required.’’ 

“Now, that is exactly why I bought it for you, because 
I want you to accompany me more to evening dinners and 
entertainments,” suggested Richard. 

“Well, we’ll see about that and talk it over later, when 
the winter ‘season’ starts. You know society does not inter¬ 
est me as much as it does you. You like to meet people better 
than I do. In fact, dinner parties generally bore me. I like 
to go to the theatre better, especially to good plays. I do 
hope that there will be some worth-while dramas presented 
here during the coming winter. When the plays aren’t good, 
there isn’t much for me to do evenings, except to read. I 
brought home some good books with me from the East,— 
some of Ibsen’s plays and some of Maeterlinck’s works.” 

“I like Maeterlinck; I have never read Ibsen. I have 
such a hard year’s work ahead of me that I think I shall have 
to relax a little, in my reading at home. I think I’ll take up 
some lighter books, — some detective stories and such like,” 
remarked Richard. 

“I never could see for the life of me what any one could 
get out of reading that kind of trash. It seems perfectly 

[ 102 ] 


Tlneir Fifth Anniversary 

inane to me. There is plenty of reading matter which is 
entertaining, without resorting to such impossible stories/ ’ 
replied Eleanor. 

“Well, we’re not going to read anything at all tonight. 
Several days ago, I noticed that Madame Raymeyer was 
going to give a concert here tonight; so I decided that if 
you came home, I would get tickets for it, for our anniver¬ 
sary evening, — just to give you a little surprise. I was 
fortunate in securing two of the best seats in the house, 
because the box office manager happened to be one of my 
clients. I defended his son, after one of his youthful 
escapades. There is plenty of time; but not much to spare, 
after we finish dinner,” concluded Richard. 

“Well, you’ve surprised me all right. In fact, you’re 
the last man on earth that I would ever have dreamed would 
buy tickets for such an event; because you’re not especially 
fond of music, and you never did such a thing before in your 
life. Of course, I’m delighted to go,” responded Eleanor, 
with more enthusiasm than she had indicated about anything 
for more than a year. 

“I want you to wear your new gown tonight,” sug¬ 
gested Richard; just as he was consuming his second plate 
of baked Alaska. 

When Eleanor had completed her toilette, she looked the 
prettiest, — the best, Richard thought, that he had seen her 
look for two years. 

“You are very pretty tonight,” he said. “I am very 
proud of you, and in the future, I want your costumes to 
reflect the increased prosperity which has come to me, and to 
represent, as they should, my financial standing in the com¬ 
munity. It is true that during the first few years of our 
married life it has been necessary, at times, for you to 


[ 103 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


economize somewhat; but I have had a rattling good year, — 
and I want people, from now on, to take notice that I am 
here and here to stay; and I want your appearance in every 
way to bespeak my success. I don’t want you to deprive 
yourself of anything which will add to your beauty or en¬ 
hance your charms,” he added. 

4 ‘Very well, dear, that is very good of you, but I must 
remind you that we have need to make haste, or we shall be 
late for the concert,” replied Eleanor. 

When Richard and Eleanor arrived at the door of the 
Kringle Theatre, Richard put his hand in the inside pocket 
of his evening clothes to get the tickets. 

Suddenly, he ejaculated, with a tone of intense provoca¬ 
tion: 

1 ‘1 haven’t my tickets! Why didn’t you remind me to 
take them from my office clothes? You knew very well that 
I brought them home. Now, I shall have to drive the car 
back home and get them.” 

“Of course I never dreamed but that you would remem¬ 
ber them; you have such a wonderful memory. In fact, I 
saw you take them out of the pocket of your blue serge suit; 
but it never occurred to me that you would forget them. ’ 9 

“Well, I must have laid them down, with the idea of 
putting them in my bill-fold later. No doubt, I left them on 
the dresser. Well, I’ll hurry and get back just as soon as I 
can. You wait in the parlor here on the first floor, and I 
will come there for you,” concluded Richard, as he hurried 
away. 

After his return, Richard was really in very good humor, 
and enjoyed the program much more than he had anticipated. 
He knew that he was giving Eleanor an artistic, musical 
treat. It had been in his heart all day to give himself entirely 

[ 104 ] 


Their Fifth Anniversary 


over to her entertainment that evening. He had succeeded 
and his efforts were seemingly appreciated to a greater 
degree than they had been on other previous anniversaries. 
Perhaps it was because of the mental reaction, which had 
come to Eleanor during her reflections about all that had 
occurred on the day when she came home. 

That evening was a becoming, fitting, fifth anniversary. 
Would they be able from now on to live in harmony and 
concord, with the same loving spirit which had filled this 
occasion? 


[ 105 ] 


CHAPTER YI 


Their New Home 

“TTTELL, how do you think you’re going to like it?” 

W queried Richard of Eleanor, as they sat by the fire¬ 
place, at the beginning of the first evening in their new 
fourteen room sandstone house, which they had built about 
eight years after their marriage. 

4 ‘ Oh! very well, I guess. Of course, it is going to be much 
harder work to look after this place. The rooms are so much 
larger than they were in our cottage,” answered Eleanor. 

“Well, so far as that is concerned, you can just as well 
have another maid. Freida is so accustomed to your ways of 
doing things, after all these years, that she would be perfectly 
capable of breaking in and training a second girl,” suggested 
Richard. 

“No, I prefer to try to get along with only Freida. It is 
very difficult to get two domestics who will work together 
peaceably. Besides, no second girl whom we could hire would 
ever take care of my linen and silver and furniture and rugs 
and bric-a-brac as I do. I just have to look after those things 
myself . 9 9 

“Yes, I understand that, and you make yourself a slave 
to those things. You devote as much time to the care of these 
dead, inanimate pieces of Chippendale furniture; these 
Oriental rugs, and marble statuettes and bronze figurines, as 

[ 106 ] 


Their New Home 

a keeper of a museum would give to a rare and costly collection 
of curios and relics. 

“You’ve added so much to all these things of late, that 
I’m almost afraid your life in this new house will be a burden, 
unless you get another servant. There are plenty of Swedish 
girls in this city, who would be glad to work for you.” 

“No, they would make me more work than they could 
accomplish. Besides, they would never learn to take care of 
my antiques. That requires some one who understands the 
value of such things and who knows how to handle them care¬ 
fully.” 

“Yes, I guess you’re right. It isn’t an extra maid which 
you need so much as it is a curator, — a professional curator 
of a domestic museum, so that you can be free to enjoy your 
new home. If you could only make up you mind to discon¬ 
tinue your work, as a custodian of all these antiques, and 
become just a simple home-keeper, I think you would be much 
happier in this new house,” suggested Richard. 

“It’s all very well for you to talk, because you don’t 
know what you’re talking about. I would not surround my¬ 
self by artistic things if I did not intend to give them artistic 
attention. 

“My aesthetic tastes would forbid me any negligence of 
my responsibilities toward objects of art. That is a part of 
my business just as pleading is a part of yours,” commented 
Eleanor. 

The new Radcliffe residence was an architectural model, 
which constituted a real adornment to the finest residential 
section in the suburbs of Mount Olympic. 

It stood on a hill, overlooking Puget Sound. It afforded 
a bird’s-eye view of many islands and all the towering peaks 
and snow-covered ranges of the Cascades and Olympics. To 

[ 107 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


the North could be seen Mount Baker, with its covering of 
white softened and subdued by the sun’s glow, until it re¬ 
sembled a huge pink cameo against a background of rugged 
grandeur. To the Southeast was Mount Rainier, a magnifi¬ 
cent towering cone, Nature’s greatest monument on the 
American continent. On the West were the Olympics with 
outstanding Mount Olympus, superior to the Olympus of 
Thessaly, but like the Grecian legend, fit for the abode of the 
gods and the Great Spirits. 

Such was the setting of the Radcliffe home, at Twenty- 
Three Arbor Court, on Magnolia Drive. 

There was an outside stair-way leading to the flat roof 
over the dining-room, which gave the house a distinctive 
touch. A well-known architect, by the name of Ryder, had 
drawn plans for the house, in consultation with an interior 
decorator, who had had much experience in both Paris and 
New York. Eleanor had offered many suggestions, both to 
the architect and the decorator, who had given her credit 
for unusual artistic taste, and the ability to express it with 
the discrimination of a connoisseur. 

The main entrance and hall were on the north side of the 
house, which left the southern exposure for the living-rooms 
which were all open to the sunlight. 

In the sun-parlor, which led from the house to the garden, 
there was a most unusual scheme of decorating, carried out by 
delicately painted butterflies in bas-relief. The exquisite 
semblance of these summer pleasure-seekers flying about the 
plastered walls, and the enchanting view of the gardens from 
the long plate glass windows, made one almost feel that he was 
enjoying two gardens instead of one. There was a long crest- 
wood rug, a closely woven fabric, in bright cheerful colors, 
which harmonized with the draperies and furniture covers of 

[ 108 ] 


Their New Rome 


brilliantly patterned linens with warm yellow backgrounds. 
The floor was of deep gray and white tile. 

In the library was an antique, Chippendale mantel, which 
harmonized with the soft brown velvet draperies and 
upholstering of the mahogany furniture. There was a deep 
fire-place built of sandstone, underneath the mantel. 

The reception room and parlor were in walnut panelings, 
with furnishings of the same kind of wood of the best design 
and workmanship. 

In the dining-room the scenic walls were painted in land¬ 
scapes covered with trees and open spaces dotted by pergolas, 
which formed a background of particular charm and individu¬ 
ality. The furniture was Queen Anne in style, painted to be 
in harmony with the general setting. 

The dining-room afforded another view of the garden 
entirely different from the views to be seen from the sun- 
parlor. Here could be seen the wistaria arbor, surrounded 
by Dorothy Perkins roses, shady maples in the background, 
water-lilies and golden day lilies. This wealth of flowers was 
at the right of the splashing Florentine fountain, which could 
be seen from the end windows of the sun-room. 

There was a combination suite of rooms, consisting of a 
sitting-room and two bed-rooms, each with a private bath. 
These rooms had been set aside for Eleanor and Richard. 
Eleanor’s boudoir was artistically interesting in elusive tones 
of gray-green and rose. The paneled walls of the sitting- 
room were accented by decorative pastoral paintings, and the 
graceful, carved chaise-lounge was finished in green-gold. 
There was a contrasting note in the fine old desk of Mar- 
queterie which belonged to Eleanor, and the old Florentine 
cabinet with concealed small compartments on either side, 

[ 109 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


which was used by Richard whenever he had occasion to file 
away newspaper clippings, or to do any writing at home. 

There were three guest chambers, with private baths, 
furnished in bird’s-eye maple, cameo enamelled white wood, 
and polychrome mahogany, — each with decorations which 
constituted an artistic and individual setting. 

But with all the beauty which was a part of this newly 
made home and its surroundings, there was a noticeable ab¬ 
sence of freedom in its use and enjoyment. This atmosphere 
of restraint established itself immediately, — just as soon as 
Richard and Eleanor had taken possession of the place. 

In the chairs, divan and davenport of the library, there 
were cushions and pillows made of soft satins, Poiret silk and 
French linen. 

Richard Radcliffe would have enjoyed reposing his tired 
head on any one of these pillows; but there was a certain in¬ 
definable something in his wife’s face, — a thought unspoken, 
— unexpressed, but nevertheless, emphatically and assuredly 
there, which denied him this measure of self-indulgence. 

The pillows always looked inviting, but that was all there 
was to it, so far as Richard Radcliffe’s personal comfort was 
concerned. He never dared, in his own house, take any 
liberties which were unauthorized by his precise and partic¬ 
ular wife. It was true that he had continued to smoke occa¬ 
sionally at home, ever since Eleanor’s last visit to Washington, 
but now that they were living in their new home, Eleanor had 
stated in no uncertain terms, that she did not intend to have 
all her fine new things saturated by tobacco fumes. Richard 
had not argued the matter with her, but he had reserved to 
himself the intention to begin smoking again in their new 
residence either sometime when Eleanor was off her guard, 
occupied elsewhere with her domestic duties, or else, when 

[ 110 ] 


Tlneir New Home 


Hargreaves should come to call on them, as Richard well knew 
that Eleanor would not express her displeasure in the presence 
of guests. 

Richard’s restrained surroundings in his own house were 
in entire contrast with the privileges which had been his back 
in his old Indiana home, where five brothers and two sisters 
had been reared with entire freedom, in a large, spacious, old- 
fashioned dwelling, with huge front and back door-yards,— 
an orchard and garden attached. Here the Radcliffes had 
lived an unrestrained life, so far as healthful recreation and 
amusement were concerned. 

For the past three years, Richard had been accustomed to 
dine at the Olympic Club about every other evening. This 
gave him an opportunity to play bridge with his business 
associates. In fact, he had become an expert at this game, so 
that he was known as one of the best players on the Pacific 
Coast. 

“A man who plays bridge as Hargreaves plays it, shows 
an evidence of a well-balanced mind; but a man who plays as 
Radcliffe plays, well,— that is a sure sign of a mis-spent 
youth , 9 9 said old Doc Witherill, one day when they were wind¬ 
ing up a game at the Olympic Club. They had been playing 
for only one half a cent a point; — but Radcliffe had won 
about thirty dollars. He had started the last hand by bidding 
two spades, which had been followed by a three heart and a 
four diamond bid. Richard had then said four no-trumps, 
and wound up with complete control of all the leads, by 
finessing cleverly through the dummy and his own hand until 
he made a grand slam. 

While Eleanor did not approve of Richard’s dining at the 
Club so frequently, at the same time, she was unwilling to 

[ 111 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

bestow the hospitality of her home upon her husband’s busi¬ 
ness associates. 

“Home should not be a place to discuss business. It 
introduces too much of the commercial element and desecrates 
the finest traditions of those who wish to maintain the best 
social standards. 

“Such a practice as bringing home one’s business friends 
is sure to result in a certain wear-and-tear on the furniture, 
rugs and linen. Such things are very expensive and it costs 
a great deal to meet the over-head of renewing household 
furniture and supplies. Such extravagances in hospitality are 
not conducive to thrift; and besides, it means too much extra 
work and responsibility for the head of the house,” Eleanor 
had said to Richard, when he had suggested that it was neces¬ 
sary for him to spend much time at the Club, unless he could 
bring his friends home for a little social diversion, while they 
discussed casually, business matters. 

“I can’t see why men want to mix their social affairs with 
their business. I should think that an office would be the 
proper place to talk business,” remarked Eleanor to Richard, 
while they talked over Richard’s methods of meeting and talk¬ 
ing with people, who could be of some assistance to him in his 
profession. 

“Well, you would understand better about those things 
if you were either a business or a professional man ; but since 
you are not, why don’t you leave such matters to my judg¬ 
ment? 

“So far as I am concerned, I am perfectly willing to 
entertain my friends at the Club. It works out very well. 
I don’t have to worry about ruining any furniture, or soiling 
any fancy work. It suits me perfectly, so don’t worry about 
it,” Richard had replied. 


[ 112 ] 


Their New Rome 


It was no unusual occurrence now for Richard to tele¬ 
phone home, in advance of the dinner hour, that it would he 
quite impossible for him to get home. Usually he made the 
excuse that some business acquaintances from out of town had 
just arrived; or that some important, pending, local matter 
required final settlement that evening. He would generally 
add to his telephone conversation, the explanation that the 
nature of the matters to be discussed was so technical, that it 
would be out of the question to include the wives of the men 
interested; or else, some ethical questions were involved, which 
could not well be approached with any outsiders present. 

Eleanor had been impressed with the fact that if Richard’s 
professional practice was increasing in proportion to the num¬ 
ber of excuses which he gave for entertaining men at the Club, 
he would by this time have been obliged to enlarge his staff 
of clerks and rent an entire floor, in order to carry on his 
business. 

In one of her letters to her mother, she had said: 

“I think it best, however, not to remonstrate with Richard 
about taking his friends to the Club. He must pay his share 
of the Club dues anyway, — like the other members, and since 
he must meet this obligation, he is entitled to the unlimited 
privileges of the Club.” 

Eleanor had concluded that the expense of dining Rich¬ 
ard’s friends at the Club was probably less, when everything 
was taken into account, than it would be if he were to bring 
them home. If they were to entertain, to any extent, at home, 
it would be necessary for her to employ another servant. Thus 
far, she had been able to take care of their new home, with 
only the assistance of Frieda, and, by having an extra woman 
helper come two days a week to do the laundry work. 

Eleanor believed that she was performing her whole duty, 

[ 113 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


by keeping her home spotless and herself well-groomed and 
immaculate. There was no reason, she thought, why she 
should trasform their house into a rendezvous for Richard’s 
men associates. 

By the time that they had been married fourteen years, 
the last six years of which had been spent in their luxurious, 
sandstone house, Eleanor had settled down to a quiet accept¬ 
ance of life, which was rather an uninteresting humdrum, — 
prosaic and commonplace, to say the least. She continued to 
read all the latest books, which she considered worth reading, 
and she still did enough fancy work to stock a well equipped 
art store. 

Even when Richard was at home, he seemed to prefer to 
spend much of his time alone, either in the library, where he 
read the newspapers, or on one of the verandas, where he 
would often play solitaire on a rustic table, which he could 
use without disturbing any of the plants. 

He had always wanted to keep a dog; but since Eleanor 
was not at all friendly to this idea, he had given it up, until 
recently, when one of his best clients, an Eastern mining man, 
had shipped him as a present, a pedigreed, Belgian Police 
dog, with a long line of prize-winning canines as ancestors. 

“Well, I don’t know what you’re going to do with him. 
We can’t have him in the house and he barks so terribly if 
he’s kept tied out of doors. If we turn him loose, he’ll walk 
over all the grass and flower beds, so that the lawn and garden 
will be completely ruined,” Eleanor had protested, as soon as 
the dog arrived. 

Argus, for that was the pup’s name, was a wonderful wolf 
gray, — son of Audifax Seigestor, whose reputation was inter¬ 
national. 

The first thing which Richard did, after Argus’ arrival, 
was to have the garage door made over, with an opening near 

[ 114 ] 


Their New Home 


the bottom which was just big enough for Argus to open, so 
that he could go in and out at his own pleasure. 

Argus seemed to realize from the first that he was not 
wanted by the mistress of the house; but he made up his mind 
that her cold-blooded negligence was more than compensated 
for by his master’s warmth and kindness, — for if there was 
any man in the world who was heart hungry for the unstinted 
affection and loyal devotion of a good dog, — that man was 
Richard Radcliffe. From his earliest boyhood he had been 
inordinately fond of dogs. He would cheerfully claim any 
poor, old, homeless, canine creature; take him home, feed him 
and take care of him. As a college boy he had always owned 
a dog; but never before in his life, had he really needed and 
wanted a dog so much as now. He felt that the wagging tail 
and spontaneous responsiveness of a dog would help to make 
up for the lack of warmth and consideration which he received 
in his own home. He made up his mind that nothing should 
induce him to part with Argus, — not even Eleanor’s pro¬ 
tests. She had informed Richard that if he expected to keep 
Argus, that he must be the one to feed him and bathe him. 
When Richard found that the food, which Eleanor provided 
for Argus was very limited in quantity, he took matters into 
his own hands and ordered the butcher to send around, every 
day, a good beef bone, with some real meat on it. He insisted 
that this should be thoroughly cooked, — all of which pro¬ 
ceedings were the subject of much annoyance to Eleanor. 

When it came time for Argus to have his first bath, 
Eleanor positively refused to permit him to be taken into the 
basement, where Richard suggested that one of the laundry 
tubs could be used. 

Thus it transpired that Argus’ bath had to be postponed, 
— for several days, — until Radcliffe could make arrange- 

[ 115 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

ments to have a bath tub for the special use of Argus, placed 
in the garage. Richard did not inform Eleanor of this plan, 
until the plumbers were on the ground. 

‘‘Well, I don’t know what the world is coming to,:— 
when a supposedly, sensible man begins to live for the pleasure 
and happiness of a dog. Of course, Argus should be bathed, 
if you must have him around, but it’s worse than foolish to 
go to such an amount of expense. You could very easily have 
placed a cheap, wooden tub in the rear of the garage, — and 
you could have carried the water from the spigot to it, ’ ’ said 
Eleanor, in a fault-finding tone of voice, — failing to realize, 
as she did, that a man of Richard’s big heart and generosity of 
disposition, must find some vent for his affections, other than 
that which her reserved nature was able to give to him. 

“Well, who’s doing this? Who’s dog is Argus, anyway? 
I think I have the right to make whatever provisions I choose, 
both for feeding and grooming Argus,” Richard replied, in a 
spirit of determination, which indicated to Eleanor that he 
meant what he said, — because there were times when his 
decisions in domestic matters were absolutely final, — and 
Eleanor knew, only too well, that this was one of those times. 

As a rule, Richard indulged her, actuated mostly by force 
of habit, — the habit which he had acquired in his early mar¬ 
ried days, when his one great purpose in life had been to give 
her unalloyed happiness; when his sympathies for her had 
been deeply enlisted because he knew that, in her heart, she 
must feel a certain loneliness, — in being so far away from her 
own people. 

Then, too, no matter how aggressive Richard Radcliffe 
might be in his relations with men in competitive fields, — 
there was within his big inner soul, a vital, vibrant, innate 
sympathy for all woman-kind. Not only had this quality been 

[ 116 ] 


Their New Rome 


born in him, but it had been bred and nurtured in his charac¬ 
ter, from his very infancy and young boyhood. His mother 
had instilled into his very being the principles of honor and 
devotion and chivalry toward women. 

Even now, fourteen years after he had been married, and 
almost twenty years after his mother's death, he said one day 
to Blakeman in the office. 

“It is impossible for a man, — for a boy,— who has had 
a good mother, ever to get away from her teaching and ex¬ 
ample. Her influence forms part of the warp and woof of his 
life. It remains with him always. It sustains him when 
everything else in the world may fail him, — and where one 
is doubly fortunate in having the potential influences of both 
a good mother and a good father, he is among the most fa¬ 
vored of all men. This is the one asset in life which has always 
constituted my greatest blessing. It is the one thing in the 
world for which I am the most grateful .’ 9 

This very afternoon, when Richard arrived home from 
the office, he found Eleanor to be in a more highly agitated 
mood than he had seen her for months. She was in the throes 
of despair and anger, alternately, while she related to Richard 
the story of Argus’ free-for-all fight with a big, bushy-tailed, 
black cat, belonging to the Bagleys who lived next door. This 
combat had taken place in the middle of Eleanor’s choicest 
nasturtium bed. Stray bits of cat’s fur, dog hairs, and nas¬ 
turtium blossoms, were the painful evidences which were left to 
tell the rest of the tale. To make matters worse, Mrs. Bagley 
was highly indignant because her blooded, black cat had been 
drawn into such a brawl and so outrageously torn and battered 
and wounded by the war-like, savage Argus. This was a 
source of great grief to Eleanor, who prized Mrs. Bagley’s 

[ 117 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

friendship more than she did that of any other woman in the 
neighborhood. 

“There’s no use of talking about it; you’ll have to get 
rid of that dog. I simply can’t stand it any longer. It’s only 
a question of time anyway, when the authorities would order 
him to be killed because of his cruelty, so we might as well 
dispose of him now and save ourselves any further trouble. I 
know well enough that Mrs. Bagley will never come into our 
house again,” concluded Eleanor. 

“Well, that won’t hurt my feelings one bit, for I think 
that Bagley is the biggest old bore in town. I never could 
stand him. As for Argus, I wouldn’t exchange one wag of his 
tail for the friendship of all the Bagleys in the world. Where 
is he anyway?” 

“I tied him up, of course, — good and fast, too. He was 
all tired out, — fairly shaking and bristling with anger, after 
he had nearly killed the poor cat. As soon as he came on to 
the back porch, I grabbed him by the collar and chained him 
to the corner of the garage. We won’t turn him loose again 
until we make some arrangements to let him go for good,” 
remarked Eleanor emphatically. 

“Well, when Argus goes for good I shall go with him,” 
replied Richard with an equal degree of emphasis. 

“Yes, I think you’re just about crazy enough about him 
to do that very thing. You’ve never acted like yourself since 
you brought Argus home. You’ve hardly had a rational mo¬ 
ment since, and now you would go so far as to let that infernal 
beast break up your home, ’ ’ answered Eleanor. 

“Yes, and that infernal beast, as you call him, has given 
me more devotion and affection than I have ever had in the 
last fifteen years,” replied Richard calmly. 

“Well, I’ve heard of women who made fools of them- 

[ 118 ] 


Their New Home 


selves over dogs, and I’ve heard you criticize them, too; but 
I’ve never seen anyone who went so far as you ’re going now, ’ ’ 
commented Eleanor. 

“That’s all right, you may say whatever you please, but 
there isn’t anyone in the world who’s going to separate me 
from Argus,” remarked Richard. 

“Well, I don’t know what you’re going to do unless we 
keep him tied up all the time. If we do that, he’ll howl and 
hark and growl so, that he will be complained of as a public 
nuisance. I ’ll try to find someone who lives out in the country 
who wants a dog,” suggested Eleanor. 

“You heard what I said, didn’t you? We’re not going to 
keep Argus tied up and we’re not going to dispose of him. 
He’s going to stay right where he is,” concluded Richard, as 
he walked through the house to the hack porch, where he took 
another look at the battle-ground on which the canine-felis 
domestica combat had taken place. 

Richard then walked toward the garage, from which 
Argus was bounding forward the full length of his chain, and 
pulling so fiercely to loosen the staple that it seemed he was 
almost shaking the garage itself from its foundations. Richard 
soon released him from his bondage, while Argus jumped all 
over his much loved master, bestowing upon him every expres¬ 
sion of affection, of which a dog-heart is capable. He licked 
Richard’s hands in gratitude, — then raising his eyes, he 
bounded upon his master’s body and kissed his face in true 
dog-fashion, — as much as to say: “Well, I did a very good 
job today. I thrashed Coal-Fire. He won’t trespass upon 
our premises any more. He doesn’t seem to understand that 
this place is yours and mine. He wants to intrude himself all 
the while in our garden. He’ll stay at home now though, or 

[ 119 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

else he’ll be carried home a dead cat, the next time he comes 
over. 

4 ‘You and I understand each other, don’t we ? Some way 
the madame doesn’t understand me at all. She seems to think 
that I’m only a brute with no thoughts, or feeling, or soul. 
She just doesn’t know the A B C of Dogdom. You see, I don’t 
know anything about her world and she doesn’t know any¬ 
thing about mine,” and Argus was still wagging his tail at a 
tremendous rate of speed. 

“It’s the same here, old pal,” thought Richard, while he 
stroked Argus’ beautiful gray fur. 

The next day, Richard brought home a handsome, black 
leather dog-collar, ornamented in gold, with Argus’ name in 
full and his master’s address and telephone number engraved 
carefully thereon. 

“I suppose that’s a reward for his victory yesterday,” 
sarcastically remarked Eleanor. 

“Yes, I thought he was deserving of something, after such 
a hard day, and I hardly felt like presenting him with a 
medal,” laughingly answered Richard. 

In his heart, Radcliffe felt that all his worldly posses¬ 
sions, — which had been increasing for many years now, until 
they represented a very comfortable fortune, had not brought 
him the soothing balm of the soul which his canine friend 
poured out upon him effusively every time when he came home. 
There was something about Argus’ implicit trust and dog- 
confidence, which inspired a joyful response in Richard’s 
grateful spirit. 

After all, timber and copper, in which Radcliffe had made 
much of his money, were only material things. It was true 
that they helped to build the great industrial forces of the 
world; but they were at best, just dead, inanimate substances, 

[ 120 ] 


Their New Home 


to be turned over for tbe purpose of making money, — to help 
make the great commercial wheels go around. The copper 
mine in Alaska had brought forth rich results. For many 
years, the stock of the Copper Mountain Development Com¬ 
pany had been listed on the New York Stock Exchange. It 
was now a very active stock. Occasionally the speculators 
formed pools and sent it up and down, without regard for its 
intrinsic value, — but it was, after all, a very substantial 
security. Radcliffe and Hargreaves still owned large blocks 
of it. Long since, Radcliffe’s fortune had surpassed several 
times that of Radford Bawkus, who had, a few years before, 
been forced to retire from the Presidency of The First Na¬ 
tional Bank, because the controlling interest in that institu¬ 
tion had been taken over by men who stood for more progres¬ 
sive and sounder economic policies for the business betterment 
of the community. In fact, Hargreaves and Radcliffe con¬ 
trolled now the policy of the Olympic National Bank, which 
had proven to be such a strong competitor of the other banks, 
that it had captured the biggest share of the business of the 
city. 

The aspiration to make a bigger place for himself still 
survived in Richard’s mind but not to the same degree which 
it had hold of him several years before, when Helen Hammond 
had furnished him so much inspiration to achieve the very 
summit of fame and power. This incentive, in Radcliffe’s 
life, had been subdued somewhat when Helen had made up 
her mind, after long deliberation, — to marry Roger Blake- 
man. She was a very discreet girl, and her discretion had 
grown with her years, observation and experience. She really 
had a heart-interest in Richard Radcliffe. But she was of a 
very practical turn of mind. 

“But what’s the use?” she said to her mother one day, 

[ 121 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


“I might as well be spending my time and working my head 
off for a man whose advancement in life, I will be able to 
share. If I go on working day and night, year after year, 
for Richard Radcliffe, I will grow old prematurely and in the 
end, I will have no tangible reward. Had he been single 
when I met him, I believe that, with my help, he could have 
become one of the most eminent and distinguished men in 
public life; but the Fates evidently did not plan our lives that 
way, — and so, we must make the best of it. Roger has good 
material in him. The Blakemans originally were a fine old 
New England family. I don’t believe that he has as much 
natural ability as Radcliffe; — but after all, Roger is far above 
the average. I know that I can contribute something toward 
his success. I can help him to plan his life better than he can 
plan it himself. Then, too, I really like him; and although it 
is not a case of being unable to live without him, at the same 
time, we are very congenial, and I feel sure that we shall 
always be able to get along well together. 

“In any event, we have to admit that very few people are 
able to live their romances, — to carry out the high spots in 
their romantic adventures. Only a few ever reach the zenith 
in bestowing and receiving the maximum degree of affection, 
-—in an affair of the heart. So I have made up my mind to 
marry Roger.” 

True to her practical nature, Helen Hammond had car¬ 
ried out her plans. They had been married six years now. 
They had two bright, healthy children, — a girl and a boy. 
Roger had been chosen Prosecuting Attorney at the last an¬ 
nual election; while the politicians agreed that he would never 
set the world on fire, still he had the confidence of the com¬ 
munity and was well assured of a moderate degree of success 
in whatever he might attempt. In fact, he was generally over- 

[ 122 ] 


Their New Home 


estimated by the public, — by those of no great political per¬ 
spicacity. The plain man in the street was inclined to look 
up to Roger Blakeman as a very exceptional public official. 
This was due, in no small measure, to the resourcefulness and 
ingenuity of Blakeman’s wife, who knew exactly how to 
manage publicity and how to capitalize official position. 

And so life went on in Mount Olympic. Richard Rad- 
cliffe’s vanity had not been sorely wounded by Helen’s mar¬ 
riage to Blakeman. Radcliffe had always liked Helen, and he 
had even gone so far as to admit to himself that if circum¬ 
stances had been different, he would undoubtedly have mar¬ 
ried her; and yet, he realized that she did not represent his 
highest ideal of womanhood. But, was there any woman in 
the world who did ? 


[ 123 ] 


CHAPTER VII 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves’ 

“T RECEIVED cards today inviting us to a dinner at the 
1 Hargreaves’. Loyola has a house guest from the East. 
Her name isn’t on the cards, though. I judge that this is going 
to be quite a formal affair, because I can not remember only 
three times, in all the years during which we have known them, 
when they have issued formal invitations. You know they 
usually just call us up by telephone when they invite us over. 
Although I just detest formal functions, I know that I ’ll have 
to go with you, because, of course, you wouldn’t miss it 
for the world. 

“Loyola always depends on you to make jokes and tell 
stories. You always seem to like the sound of your own voice 
so well, that I think you enjoy helping her entertain as much 
as she does having you.” 

Such was Eleanor’s greeting, one evening in the early fall 
of 1916, just as Richard had entered the house and was hang¬ 
ing his over-coat in a closet opening from the library. This 
little recess in the wall had a mahogany door, in the front of 
which was a full length Newcomb mirror. This clothes-press 
had been reserved for Richard’s belongings ever since the 
house had been built. Here he kept his over-coats, over-shoes, 
and every day hats. His other wardrobe, with all its habili¬ 
ments, was kept in the spacious closet off his bedroom upstairs. 
Eleanor always saw to it that his wearing apparel was kept 

[ 124 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves y 

in his own apartments, and she had trained him from their 
earliest married days, to keep everything concentrated and in 
order, — carefully packed or hanging on the walls protected 
by dust-coverings. 

Richard was naturally quite orderly, but occasionally, 
when he was in a hurry, he had formed the habit of leaving his 
discarded clothing or suits which needed pressing, either on 
the floor or hanging over the backs of chairs. This negligence 
always brought forth a little dissertation on the subject of his 
untidiness. 

“Don’t put your wet over-shoes in that closet! Don’t 
hang your over-coat there when it’s wet! Take them out in 
the kitchen and have Freida dry them by the stove. I think 
I’ve reminded you of this thoughtlessness all these years, now, 
until you ought to begin to know how to take care of your 
damp clothes,” added Eleanor, to her previous remarks on 
the subject of the Hargreaves’ dinner. 

“No, that’s just the reason I don’t remember. You see 
that my sub-conscious mind has acquired the habit of being 
nagged by you first, before I put away wet clothing; — so of 
course, I don’t take care of it on my own initiative, — not 
until after you have called my attention to it,” replied Rich¬ 
ard, rather nonchalantly. 

Just as Freida was serving the soup course, during their 
evening meal, Eleanor resumed the subject of the forthcoming 
event at the Hargreaves’. 

“I haven’t seen Loyola lately, — not for a week or two. 
I wonder who it is who is visiting her. Have you heard Har¬ 
greaves say?” 

“Yes, it’s a Miss Marling from New York. She used to 
go to school with Loyola. Hargreaves tells me that she is a 
very interesting woman,:— full of enthusiasm for present day 

[125] 


A Warning to Wives 


events, — a woman who has had rather unusual social oppor¬ 
tunities, — a cosmopolite, I judge. I imagine that it may be 
something of a treat to meet her. 

“It’s been so long since we have met anyone at all out of 
the ordinary that I am rather looking forward to making Miss 
Marling’s acquaintance,” concluded Richard, while he added 
a little paprika to the vermicelli soup. 

“Oh, I don’t know! It hasn’t been so long since we were 
in San Francisco, where we met Admiral Beecher; — and it 
has only been five years since we made our trip around the 
world. I am sure no one could have met more distinguished 
people than we did then, with our letters of introduction from 
United States Senator Wainwright,” commented Eleanor. 

i ‘ Oh, yes! But five years is a long time ago, — a lot of 
things have happened in the world since then, ■— and as for 
Admiral Beecher, he didn’t appeal to me as a man of any great 
parts. If he hadn’t had an Admiral’s uniform to recommend 
him, I don’t think he would have made any Hell of an impres¬ 
sion anywhere.” 

“Oh, I thought he was perfectly charming. He had such 
splendid manners and such a wonderful appreciation of all 
the beautiful things in life. He had such a true regard for 
harmony in everything, and such a fine understanding of 
aesthetics.” 

“Well, of course, he didn’t have an opportunity to reveal 
any of that understanding to me,” responded Richard, smil¬ 
ingly. 

“You appreciate superficial beauty, — the beauty which 
is obvious or apparent to the discerning eye, •— but what I 
mean when I speak of Admiral Beecher’s appreciation of 
beauty, — is that he understands the theory or philosophy of 
taste; the real science of the beautiful,” explained Eleanor. 

[ 126 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves’ 

“Oh, indeed!” ejaculated Richard. “I fear that your 
discrimination is too intricate for me to comprehend.’ ’ 

“Well, it’s a strange thing that the legal mind always 
questions or condemns that which it can not understand, ’’ 
answered Eleanor, in a tone of finality, which indicated per¬ 
fect confidence in her own opinion. 

“It's probably because of our limitations. You know 
everyone has them. They are only fatal, however, when one 
is so deep down in a rut that he can not see over the rim. I 
flatter myself that I have never gone that far down. ’ ’ 

The door bell rang. It was Edith Compton, Eleanor’s 
old neighbor, whose husband was going to attend an Elks’ 
Banquet that evening, and who had driven around by the 
Radcliffe residence, where he left his wife to spend the 
evening. 

“Oh, it’s you, Edith? Come right along into the dining¬ 
room. We haven’t finished dinner yet,” exclaimed Eleanor, 
when she heard Edith’s voice in the hall, when Frieda opened 
the door. 

“Well, what do you know? I suppose you’ve received 
your invitation to the Hargreaves’ dinner. There was no 
mention of the guest of honor’s name. They must intend that 
part as a surprise. You know I told you yesterday that Loyola 
had a friend here from the East, but I couldn’t remember her 
name,” said Edith Compton, as she rattled on in her usual 
rapid-fire way of talking. 

“What did you say her name is?” queried Eleanor, turn¬ 
ing to Richard. 

“It’s Miss Marling, — Maxine Marling, I believe.” 

“Rather euphonious, — fine alliteration, too,” responded 
Edith, in her usual vivacious manner. 

“Well, if you ladies will excuse me now, — I have an 

[127] 


A Warning to Wives 


engagement at the Club. I have to meet Hargreaves there. 
One of his old Yale chums is in town, and he told me today 
that he wanted me to meet him. Something up his sleeve, I 
suppose. You never can tell what that fellow Hargreaves has 
in mind. He’s some schemer all right, ’ ’ said Richard, by way 
of apologizing for leaving so abruptly, after Edith Compton 
had come. 

“I guess he hasn’t anything on you, when it comes to 
scheming. Bob says that you’ve nearly doubled for Har¬ 
greaves, the fortune which his father left him. Anyway, he 
furnishes you with a wonderfully good excuse for getting away 
from us tonight,” commented Edith facetiously. 

“Oh, no. Richard told me, several days ago, that he had 
an engagement with Hargreaves for this evening,” volun¬ 
teered Eleanor, who always wanted to conceal from Edith 
Compton any information which would point to the fact that 
Richard ever neglected his wife in the evening. 

“What are you going to wear?” queried Edith, as soon 
as Richard was out of the room. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t thought so very much 
about it. I think, perhaps, I will wear my dark red velvet 
gown, which I bought in San Francisco. I’ve never liked it 
especially, — but Richard just insisted that I should buy it, 

— so I did. I’ve never had much good out of it. In fact, I’ve 
never worn it but twice, — once at the dinner given for 
Admiral Beecher, before we left San Francisco, and then I 
wore it at the officers’ dinner on the Steamship Hargreaves, 

— when the vessel was christened. ’ ’ 

“Yes, I remember, and you looked perfectly stunning in 
it. Bob spoke about it at the time. He said you were the best 
dressed woman there,” remarked Edith, with her usual flattery 

[ 128 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves’ 

of speech, which she always veneered with such a camouflage of 
enthusiasm that her praise had the ring of sincerity in it. 

“Well, he did me too much honor, if he said that. I 
thought your black lace was the softest, most artistic gown, 
there.” 

“Oh, that old thing. I've just cut it up, and I’m using 
the lace to cover some sofa pillows. I have a new, dove-colored, 
gray Georgette, combined with a filmy, soft lace of the same 
shade. It is draped effectively, from one side of the waist to 
the bottom of the skirt, on the other side, where it is caught 
by a festoon of little pink roses. I just bought the stockings, 
shoes, and gray lace hat, with a big gray feather to match. 
The whole combination is just screaming. I guess I’ll wear 
that,” concluded Edith. 

“It sounds very pretty. You always have something new 
for every occasion; — but, of course, you go out so much more 
than I do, that it is really necessary for you to spend more 
time and money on dress. Very often, I get a new costume 
and I go so little that it is all out of style before I have really 
had just the right opportunity to do it justice. When I see 
that I’m not getting any real good out of a perfectly good, 
new dress, I just box it up and send it back East to one of my 
sisters,” remarked Eleanor. 

“Well, I suppose you and Richard will be seated some¬ 
where close to the host and hostess and their guest of honor, 
Wednesday night. You know the Hargreaves’ so much better 
than we do. I’ve really never been in their home many times; 
and yet, there is no one in town whom I enjoy more, except you 
and Richard. The Hargreaves have such a fine lot of friends, 
too. Someone is always bobbing up from somewhere. They 
travel so much, that they meet everyone, who is worth know¬ 
ing. They have such an interesting home, -— so many unique 

[ 129 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


and valuable things, from all parts of the world. They’re 
such a congenial couple, too, — such good fellows with each 
other. Sometimes, I almost envy them the joy which they 
seem to find in each other’s company. 

“Bob’s all right, of course,—he’s a very good husband 
in many ways, — but he’s spent just oodles of the money my 
father left me, and he doesn’t seem to appreciate it, either. 
He never seems to think about what it has meant to him to be 
able to lead such a care-free life, without having to make good 
himself. He never really wants to settle down to anything 
serious. He just likes to flit about, from one thing to another, 
and from one place to another, without taking any respon¬ 
sibility, or thought, for the morrow. 

‘ 1 1 get awfully tired of it sometimes, too, — but it doesn’t 
seem to matter to him. In fact, he would just as soon, — I 
think he even prefers to travel around by himself. He often 
makes a long trip, without me. After all, we don’t mean 
such a lot to each other; although there are times when we 
save each other from being real lonesome. For the most part, 
though, we each go our own way. We bore each other terribly 
at times; but sometimes, we would rather be bored than to 
endure real loneliness. We don’t spend nearly half our time 
together, — no matter whether we are in town, or away from 
home. It has been just like this for years; in fact, since the 
first year after we were married. 

“My married life has been so different from yours. Now, 
you always just love to stay at home, and I know you and 
Richard must be wonderfully happy, or you would go out 
more than you do,” concluded Edith, while she reserved to 
herself her own suspicions, that the dove of peace which 
ostensibly hovered about the Radcliffe home was sometimes 
driven away by the nagging of the sparrow-hawk. 

[ 130 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves’ 

Eleanor’s pride forced her to answer: 

“Yes, we are quite contented to stay at home most of the 
time; read our books, enjoy our pictures, and take life 
quietly . 9 9 

Just at this instant, Argus gave a loud, shrieking bark, 
outside the back door. 

“He wants to come back into the house. He followed 
Richard out when he left,” remarked Edith. 

“Yes, he doesn’t stay in the house much, when Richard’s 
not at home,” replied Eleanor. 

“Well, he seems to want to come in right now,” said 
Edith. 

“I feel safer to have him outside, when Richard’s away, 
so I think I’ll leave him there.” 

“Oh, he’s such a darling dog, why don’t you let him in? 
I just love to stroke his handsome fur. I think he’s the most 
wonderful dog I’ve ever seen,” said Edith, with her usual 
enthusiasm. 

“Yes, but you don’t have to clean up the tracks which he 
leaves, when he comes into the house. Richard is very thought¬ 
ful, though, and careful about keeping him clean, so that he 
won’t make me any trouble,” commented Eleanor, hoping to 
give the impression that Richard’s assiduous devotion to her 
would prevent his over-indulgence of his canine treasure. 

Eleanor’s innately proud instincts would never permit 
her to let anyone think that Richard ever trespassed upon her 
will, even in the slightest matters. However, Edith had long 
since formed her own opinions of Eleanor’s dominating, 
domestic policy. Mrs. Compton possessed an almost uncanny 
sense of intuition, which had been brought to its present state 
of acute development, through her many years of association 
with her evasive, elusive, matrimonial partner. She was not 

[131] 


A Warning to Wives 


an easy woman to fool; but she was too tactful to annoy her 
friends, by revealing to them any of her intuitive knowledge, 
which might embarrass them. She had always hoped to pene¬ 
trate Eleanor Badcliffe’s steel-clad armor of pride,—but, 
thus far, she had never been able to accomplish: her purpose, 
because Eleanor had in her nature, a large measure of discre¬ 
tion, as well as an ancestral pride, which always restrained her 
from telling any of the secrets of her heart, — even to her 
most intimate friends. 

“Well, I guess that Bob isn’t coming back after me 
tonight. Anyway, he won’t come until it’s too late. Our 
night driver has a bad cold right now, so I think I’ll have to 
telephone for a taxi to take me home,” suggested Edith 
Compton, when she heard the big Swiss clock, which adorned 
the Badcliffe front hall, striking eleven. 

“Something must have detained Bichard. He is very 
seldom so late as this. He’ll probably be here in a few 
minutes, and then he ’ll drive you home, ’ ’ volunteered Eleanor. 

“No, I don’t think I’ll wait. He may be tied up in some 
important, business conference, so I guess I’ll go,” said Edith, 
who had the good sense to let Eleanor believe that she thought 
that her hostess was especially favored by having a husband 
who never invented excuses, or neglected his wife. Edith had 
divulged her own heart-secrets, partly because it was her na¬ 
ture to be rather confidential, and partly because, she hoped 
to win Eleanor Badcliffe’s innermost confidences. Then, too, 
Bob Compton had always been such a rounder that there was 
no use of attempting to disguise the fact. He lacked Bichard 
Badcliffe’s sense of dignity and proportion. 

Edith went home. Bichard arrived about twelve-thirty, 
long after Eleanor was in bed and asleep. She cared too much 
for her own personal comfort to be kept awake, far into the 

[ 132 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves’ 

night, by Richard’s absence. For several years, now, since 
she had made np her mind to lead half-contentedly, an un¬ 
romantic, quiet life, she had made a practice of retiring 
rather early, when Richard was out in the evening. 

As a matter of fact, on this particular evening, Har¬ 
greaves and his former college friend, Bradford, had left the 
Olympic Club shortly after nine o’clock. Hargreaves never 
neglected Mrs. Hargreaves, because she made his home life so 
agreeable, that he would have been neglecting himself and his 
own highest happiness, if he had been negligent of her. Had 
he planned his life solely from a selfish viewpoint, he would 
have spent the most of his time with his wife. 

After Hargreaves and his friend left the Club, Richard 
stayed there, during the remainder of the evening, where he 
played cards with old Doc Witherill and two other cronies, — 
winding up with a buffet supper about midnight. 

The following Wednesday was. the appointed day for the 
dinner party at the Worthington-Hargreaves’. 

As the guests, about twenty in number, assembled in the 
spacious, front parlor of the Hargreaves’ residence, Mrs. Har¬ 
greaves, in her modest, unpretentious manner, greeted each 
one with her usual warmth and cordiality. There was nothing 
at all stereotyped about her form of greeting, as she welcomed 
every guest in such a way as to make him or her feel that 
everyone present was very essential to the success of the 
occasion. Loyola Hargreaves’ tact was like that of a sensitive 
child, — in that her quickness of understanding enabled her 
to read the hearts of others, — almost at a glance. Whenever 
she took the hand of another, in greeting, — the effect was 
almost electrical. She seemed to grasp the very secrets of the 
soul. When these confidences once became a part of her, she 
would lock them in her own bosom, — never revealing them 


[ 133 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


to the curious, or the vulgar. At the same time, she would 
always find some way of saying or doing something which 
would meet the soul-hunger of others in an effective manner. 

Her dignity was unimpeachable. Just as the Mimosa 
plant will close its leaves at the touch of a finger, as if resent¬ 
ing an insult to its delicacy, so Loyola Hargreaves guarded 
the secrets of her friends. She never abdicated her womanly 
majesty. She was always conscious of her quiet power,— 
over her home, — her husband, her children and her friends. 
She may not have realized the strength of her power, which 
was purer than the ozone of the air itself; but even though she 
did not comprehend, to the greatest degree, the extent of her 
dominions, she did know that she would tolerate no idleness 
in her life, and that she would strive with all her might to 
sustain the courage of all those who came within the radius 
of her influence. She understood, in its fullness, the meaning 
of the word responsibility, and she was responsive to her 
understanding of all that this word meant to her. 

Worthington-Hargreaves was more conventional in his 
every day relationships than was his wife. The reception 
which he accorded to his guests, on the occasion of this dinner 
party, was more formal in its greeting than was that of Mrs. 
Hargreaves. It was more formal, because there was less in¬ 
dividuality in it. In other words, it was not within the power 
of Worthington-Hargreaves to express so much of his per¬ 
sonality, — probably because he did not have so much per¬ 
sonality to express. 

Every one received the same hand-shake and the same 
smile. Hargreaves occupied the position which he did, be¬ 
cause of the fortune which he had inherited from his father, 
— the good breeding and traditions, which formed his back¬ 
ground,-— and because of the increased prestige which had 

[ 134 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves’ 

come to him when he chose for his wife, Loyola Winfield, who 
represented the very best standards of culture and womanly 
character. Had Hargreaves been so unfortunate as to have 
chosen a different kind of wife, — one of the social butterfly 
type, for instance, he might have retrograded in the social 
scale. 

He belonged to that class of men who are quite likely to 
assume something of the color and nature of their close asso¬ 
ciates. That is, he was inclined to be more of a follower than 
a leader. He was, by no means, a weak character; but he was 
naturally agreeable and inclined to do many of the things 
which were suggested by his companions and intimates. His 
father had been successful in training him to be a fairly good 
judge of business advisers. He had shown himself responsive 
to this training, when he had chosen Richard Radcliffe to 
represent him in his important business matters. 

As the guests at the Hargreaves’ dinner made their way 
from the parlors to the polychrome Beaux Arts dining-room 
and found their places at the long table, Maxine Marling, the 
guest of honor, who had just been presented by Mrs. Har¬ 
greaves to all of her guests, found herself seated next to Mr. 
Hargreaves on the left, and Richard Radcliffe on her right. 

At first glance, Maxine was not strikingly beautiful,— 
and yet, she possessed a very wholesome quality of beauty. 
Her large, blue eyes bespoke a big heart, which had gathered 
from others the stories of their lives’ tragedies and ensuing 
heart-aches, as well as many sorry tales of dissipated fortunes 
and defeated ambitions. 

By nature, Maxine was very enthusiastic. She had always 
believed that enthusiasm was more contagious than anything 
else in the world, except the lack of it. The natural high color 
of her blonde cheeks indicated a highly sensitive, emotional 

[ 135 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


nature. Her dark brown hair, — always wavy and glossy, 
with a brilliant lustre, likewise reflected her spontaneous, 
sympathetic temperament. She was always exceedingly well- 
groomed and well-gowned. 

No Grecian lady was ever more stately, or more lovely, 
than Maxine was on this occasion. She wore a heavily beaded, 
black lace gown, cut on Grecian lines. On the left side, a 
wing-like panel fell from the shoulder, forming a long train, 
and the waist was girdled rather loosely, with a narrow band 
of beaded trimming, which matched the strips of beads, which 
fell the full length of the costume. Her only ornament was a 
string of pearls of rare color and deep lustre. 

The animation in Maxine’s deep blue eyes, so brilliantly 
enhanced by her pink cheeks, constituted a picture, which was 
intensified in artistic merit, by the setting which the 
dining-room afforded. All the electric light bulbs in the 
room were covered with orchids, which lent a transcendent 
glow to the brilliant picture. In the center of the table was a 
huge piece of orchids and American Beauty roses. There was 
a corsage, consisting of lilies-of-the-valley, Jack-roses and 
orchids, provided for each of the women guests. The place- 
cards were hand-painted, three-petaled orchids, intertwined 
with dainty, pink rose-buds. The dinner set was of rarest 
Haviland design in sapphire blue, ornamented in gold bands, 
brought together by the Hargreaves’ coat-of• arms, — a com¬ 
plete armorial composition of a conquering knight returning 
to his defeated antagonist, the sword, which the latter has just 
surrendered. 

Mrs. Hargreaves was a petite blonde. At this brilliant 
affair, she wore a costume of meteor crepe in deep, sapphire 
blue. 

“Mrs. Hargreaves, — Loyola, I always call her, is at her 
[ 136 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves* 

very best tonight,” remarked Richard to Maxine, as soon as 
they were seated. “I suppose you have known her, too, for 
many years/’ he continued. 

1 ‘Yes, indeed. When I was a Freshman in boarding- 
school, Loyola Winfield, she was then, was appointed by the 
Dean to act as my Big Sister. She was a Senior when I 
entered Miss Maxwell’s School, and she won my everlasting 
gratitude by her constant attentions to me, — when I was a 
very home-sick little girl, — away from home for the first 
time,” responded Maxine. 

“So you are really a protege of hers, then. Well, you do 
her great credit, I’m sure. I know that she must feel honored 
now, that she ever had the privilege of being at your service. 
I knew that she had many things in her life in which she 
could take great pride; — but now that I have met you, I 
think that she deserves a laurel wreath,” suggested Richard, 
with his usual savoir-faire. 

“She can’t possibly take any more pride in my friend¬ 
ship than I do in hers, although she is very generous, always, 
in her estimate of others, and especially so, of her particular 
friends. In my own heart, I feel sure that there are more 
reasons why I should be proud of her than there are reasons 
why she should be proud of me. In any event, the friendship 
between us has always been interesting and stimulating,” 
concluded Maxine. 

‘ ‘ Some way I have the impression that any one who is so 
fortunate as to win your friendship, will always find not only 
a stimulus, but an inspiration in it,” flatteringly suggested 
Richard, while the conclusion that Maxine was, at least, five 
years younger than her hostess, was taking deep root in his 
mind. He knew Mrs. Hargreaves to be thirty-five, because 

[ 137 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


he had helped to celebrate her last birthday at a dinner-party 
given by Mr. Hargreaves in honor of his wife. 

‘ ‘ I think you are paying me rather more of a compliment 
than I deserve on so short an acquaintance, ’’ replied Maxine. 

Just at this instant the fish-course was served. It con¬ 
sisted of Quinault Salmon in cream Mornay. 

“This is one of the most palatable dishes in your Western 
country. We never get salmon, back East, which taste like 
that,” commented Maxine. 

“Yes, the salmon season was a very good one this year. 
Whenever I see salmon, I am always reminded of a story of 
two brothers, who lived near Astoria, Oregon. They were 
skillful fishermen. One day the leading preacher of the town, 
who was no fisherman at all, but a good fellow, requested the 
boys to bring him some salmon. 

The following day the boys caught two fine salmon, 
wrapped them in cheese-cloth, put them in their flivver, and 
started for the preacher’s house, five miles away. They stopped 
at a half-way house to get a drink. This was in the good old 
days. Two neighbor boys came along. 

“ ‘Let’s see what they have caught now,’ remarked the 
older brother. 

“ ‘Sure enough, it’s salmon. Let’s play a practical joke, 
— let’s take their fish and substitute sturgeon. ’ 

“No sooner said than done. 

“Their friends came out of the Inn and unsuspectingly 
went on their way. When they arrived in front of the preach¬ 
er’s house, they unwrapped the fish to take one more look at 
their fine catch before they gave them away. 

“ ‘Why, Bill, these are sturgeon,’ said Tom. 

“ ‘You idiot, they are not. We said they were salmon 
when we caught them,’ Bill replied indignantly. 

[ 138 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves 9 

* ‘ 1 It matters not, they are sturgeon; just look at them! ’ 
calmly asserted Tom. 

“Bill looked again. Yes, they were sturgeon. There was 
no question about it. Disappointed and too proud to admit 
their mistake to the preacher, — they put the fish back in the 
flivver and started for home. At the half-way house, they 
decided to stop again for another drink. While they were 
thus engaged, the two culprits, who had become penitent, re¬ 
moved the sturgeon and put back the salmon. 

“Bill and Tom drove home, thinking, of course, that they 
had sturgeon. Before they took the fish into the house, they 
gave another look. 

“ ‘Why, Tom, these are salmon, as fine salmon as we ever 
caught/ said Bill. 

“Tom thundered, ‘You fool! of course they are not sal¬ 
mon. We had only two drinks, but they have certainly af¬ 
fected you. ’ 

“ ‘No/ said Bill, ‘look again!’ 

‘ ‘ Tom looked; there they were; two of the finest salmon 
they had ever seen. 

“Bill looked at Tom and Tom looked at Bill; then Tom 
said, as he looked at the fish: 

“ ‘Well, you are the Damndest fish I ever saw. You are 
salmon in the country and sturgeon in the city.’ ” 

Maxine’s amusement at Richard’s story, so cleverly told, 
was most apparent. She smiled agreeably, while he related 
the incidents of the humorous occurrence, — and then laughed 
understandingly, when he reached the climax. “Thank God, 
I’ve found a woman who has a sense of humor,” he thought to 
himself. 

Worthington-Hargreaves’ attention was diverted by 
Maxine’s laugh. “So he’s been telling you his salmon-stur- 

[ 139 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


geon story, has he? Well, get him to tell you another. He’s 
just full of them,” remarked Hargreaves, who turned again 
to continue his conversation with the Widow Runyon, a little, 
white haired, old lady, who had been a life-long friend of 
Hargreaves’ mother. Mrs. Runyon was somewhat handi¬ 
capped by deafness, and she was very sensitive concerning the 
social limitations which this infirmity placed upon her. She 
seldom accepted invitations to formal parties; but Loyola 
Hargreaves always made her feel that her presence added so 
much to the prestige and dignity of any social event, that, as 
hostess, she could not very well do without her. 

While the other guests chatted merrily, during the dinner 
hour, Richard continued to entertain Maxine. 

“Your story about the fish might be applied to some men 
who are salmon in their own communities, and who sometimes 
prove to be sturgeon when they enter larger fields of activity. 
Just for the moment, it reminded me of a man who held office 
in the County where I was brought up, back in New York 
State. He succeeded very well as Custodian of the County 
Records, and he was a fairly good mixer among men. How¬ 
ever, he became impressed to an exaggerated degree with his 
own importance, so that he sought the nomination as a Member 
of Congress and was finally elected. This proved to be too 
much for him. In Washington, he tackled, with full confi¬ 
dence, some of the greatest problems of government. This 
was right at the beginning of his term there, too. As you can 
well imagine, he made himself quite ridiculous; — although 
we always believed, back in Cortland, that if he had had the 
good sense to get his bearings properly, at the beginning of 
his National career, he might have distinguished himself; but, 
instead, he proved to be ‘a salmon in the country and a 

[ 140 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves’ 

sturgeon in the city’,” commented Maxine, after Richard had 
finished his story. 

“Yes, he might better have been content to remain ‘first 
in a little Iberian village, than to have been second in Rome ’; 
— but that is the trouble with some men, ?— they never dis¬ 
cover their own limitations until they have over-reached them¬ 
selves, — or even disgraced themselves. It is a very wise man 
who knows when he has reached the limit of his abilities in 
the world of achievement, — although I believe that most men 
never attain the place where they can express their highest 
purposes, or translate into action their greatest talents. Of 
course there are some instances, where a man’s capabilities are 
not commensurate with his ambitions; but as a rule, I be¬ 
lieve, that more often he is capable of achieving more than that 
to which he aspires. 

“Out West here we have a semi-annual Psychic Carnival, 
when numerous self-acclaimed psychologists come to tell us 
that we can take time and opportunity by the forelock and put 
ourselves in whatsoever places in the world we may desire; 
when, as a matter of fact, I believe, that we can only achieve 
our utmost success by consistent, intelligent, plodding efforts, 
along the lines of our natural abilities,” concluded Richard. 

“Yes, hard work nearly always proves to be the best 
antidote for failure,” remarked Maxine. “I believe it was 
Emerson who said, that limitation is the only sin. I don’t 
believe that it is wise, or practical, to place upon ourselves any 
limitations in a field of endeavor in which we have reasonable 
assurance that we have our share of talent. I think that it was 
Carlyle who said: ‘Resolution is almost Omnipotent’,” re¬ 
marked Maxine. 

“I see that you have a rather serious turn of mind. At 
the same time, I am glad to know that you appreciate the 

[ 141 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


humorous side of life. Speaking of the power to control situa¬ 
tions by our mental processes of resolution and so on, reminds 
me of another story of a New York business man, who prom¬ 
ised his wife to come home early, one Saturday afternoon to 
take her driving, then to a theatre, and dinner afterward. 
The man never showed up until four o ’clock Sunday morning. 
He contemplated embarrassment in explaining the situation to 
his wife. As he approached their apartment, he asserted 
mentally: 

“ ‘ I t-h-i-n-k she won’t wake up!’ 

‘ ‘Then he repeated, ‘I t-h-i-n-k she won’t wake up!’ 

“She did wake up. She did wake up! 

“ ‘What about this? You promised me to be here Satur¬ 
day at noon.’ 

“ ‘Yes, my dear, but if you will give me one minute, I 
can explain all to you. You see, at a quarter before twelve, 
I left my office to rush home to you. Just as I closed the door, 
and was pressing the elevator button, my best client, who pays 
me more than ninety percent of my income, came along, patted 
me on the shoulder, and said: 

“ ‘ “ Come on, old Sport, and celebrate my birthday with 
me.” 

“ ‘But this won’t happen again for a year, dear, because 
no man has a birthday but once a year. ’ 

“His wife looked very incredulous, instead of giving him 
credit for being sufficiently resourceful to invent a good story 
on the spur of the moment. 

“ ‘ W’y, John! This best client of yours, whom you have 
just told me about, has been waiting here in the house all this 
evening, with his wife, hoping that you would come home.’ 

“Without apparent surprise, or any evidence of being 
flabbergasted, John ejaculated: 

4 

[ 142 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves f 

“ ‘That doesn’t make a damned bit of difference. That’s 
my story and I’m going to stick to it!’ ” 

Maxine laughed heartily. With her keen degree of per¬ 
spicacity, she might have suspected that, perhaps, there had 
been parallel situations in Richard Radcliffe’s own life. 

At this point the cakes and ices were brought in. The 
latter were in the forms of small baskets of roses, both pink 
and red, which added the culminating artistic touch to this 
sumptuous dinner. 

Richard Radcliffe, with his natural susceptibility to the 
artistic and beautiful, was fully responsive to the harmoniz¬ 
ing influences of the scene which surrounded him. 

“I feel that I have been trebly fortunate this evening. 
First, our hostess is a social favorite of mine; secondly, she 
has provided us with an exquisite setting for this incompar¬ 
able dinner; thirdly, and best of all, she has conferred the 
greatest honor of the evening upon me, by seating me next 
to her brilliant guest of honor,” said Richard to Maxine, 
while they sipped their coffee, followed by creme de menthe, 
the last of a well-arranged series of stimulating beverages. 

“Indeed, she has honored you no more than she has 
favored me. I have not been so well entertained by any man’s 
anecdote and conversation, in a long time, ’ ’ quickly responded 
Maxine. 

“It is so seldom that one meets a really interesting wo¬ 
man,” said Richard, in a deeply appreciative, flattering tone. 

Following the dinner, more than a score of other guests 
arrived, who had been invited to the dance which was to begin 
about ten o’clock. Several of the men went to the smoking 
room for a chat, before they found their partners for the 
first dance. Before Richard joined the other men, he re¬ 
marked to Maxine: 


[ 143 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


“ I ’ll find yon later in the reception room. Of course, you 
dance. I hope that you will honor me by reserving several 
dances. I will join you presently.” 

Just at this instant, Pratt Dickinson, a prominent bachelor 
and typical man-about-town, who was a club friend and client 
of Richard Radcliffe, came along. Richard observed that 
Dickinson was casting some very direct and admiring glances 
toward Maxine. Dickinson had not been present at the 
dinner. He had just come for the dance, and had not yet been 
presented to the guest of honor. Richard introduced Dickin¬ 
son to Maxine. Then he excused himself, while Dickinson 
remained for a few minutes, entertaining her, with his 
usual fund of wit and humor, — the general, small talk, of 
which he was so capable. The music started in the ball¬ 
room, which was just off the dining-room. Just as Dickinson 
requested Maxine to give him the first dance, Worthington- 
Hargreaves returned from the smoking-room to remind her 
that she had promised to open the ball with him, while Mrs. 
Hargreaves received the new-comers, and looked after those 
who did not dance. Maxine danced with Hargreaves; but 
promised Dickinson the next dance. 

Meanwhile, Richard went to speak to Eleanor, whom he 
found chatting with Edith Compton. 

“No, I don’t care to dance tonight. Edith has just 
sprained her ankle slightly, — so she doesn’t care to dance 
either. I brought along a piece of lace, which I am crocheting, 
so we’ll sit here by the fire-place awhile,” Eleanor assured 
Richard, who then inquired, very solicitously, concerning 
Edith Compton’s accident. 

“Oh, it’s nothing at all. It happened yesterday. I 
slipped on the sidewalk and turned my ankle, just as I had 
one foot on the ground,, when I was getting out of the auto- 

[ 144 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves 9 

mobile. Yon run along and have a good time. Isn’t Miss 
Marling perfectly stunning? You had better go and look her 
up, or she’ll be so surrounded that you won’t get a dance this 
evening. I know that Bob will be just crazy to talk to her. I 
hope he will get a dance with her. You’ll see to it, won’t 
you?” ejaculated Edith, with her usual good humor. 

Richard entered the ball-room just in time to meet Dick¬ 
inson and Maxine, as they finished their dance. Maxine was 
playing artfully, with a huge, black, ostrich feather fan, which 
harmonized in its lustrous shades and tones, with the iridescent 
bead-work of her evening gown. 

Evidently, Maxine was making one of her clever, mean¬ 
ingless replies, to the flattering remarks poured into her ears 
by her new admirer; — for Dickinson was a past master in 
the art of showering extravagant compliments upon interest¬ 
ing and attractive women. 

“You had to come back, didn’t you, old Sport? I was 
just on the point of inviting Miss Marling to sit out a dance 
with me,” commented Dickinson. 

“You didn’t think, did you, that I intended to leave a 
prize like her in your company, any longer than it was abso¬ 
lutely necessary that I should to be polite?” explained Rich¬ 
ard, good-naturedly. 

“Well, I don’t intend to leave until she promises me 
another dance,” said Dickinson. 

Maxine assented. “Look me up a little later, when they 
are playing a waltz. You waltz so very well,” she added. 

“I’m going to try to find Mrs. Hargreaves. She told me 
that she had a young debutante, — a Miss Fuller, whom she 
wanted me to meet tonight,” commented Dickinson. Just as 
he turned to go away he caught a glimpse of Priscilla Payette, 
one of the prettiest girls in the younger set, — the daughter 

[ 145 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


of a French count, who had married a niece of the Senior 
Hargreaves. After Count Payette had squandered the greater 
part of his wife’s inheritance from her father, — it was Loyola 
Hargreaves who had come to the rescue, by insisting that her 
husband should provide substantially for his unfortunate 
cousins, — and in such a way, too, that Mrs. Payette and 
Priscilla would not know but that the money came from some 
small investments which Worthington-Hargreaves had made 
for them out of the ruins of the financial wreck brought upon 
the Payettes by the irresponsible Count. Indeed, Cousin 
Frances, for that was Mrs. Payette’s name, believed to this 
day that it was through some Divinely generous Providence, 
that the remnants of their fortune had been brought under the 
spell of a Magic Midas. The myth of Dionysius, or the 
miracle of the loaves and fishes, was no more wonderful to 
her than was the story of her own miraculous experience in 
the world of finance. 

While Dickinson led Priscilla Payette away to the fox¬ 
trot, Richard remarked to Maxine: 

“I don’t know where he finds them all, but they all seem 
to fall for him.” 

“I don’t know as to that; but isn’t he luckier in making 
discoveries than he is fortunate in making conquests ? ’ ’ queried 
Maxine. 

“You make me suspicious, now, that he has already dis¬ 
covered your merits and charms; and that he is, thus early, 
attempting to make a conquest of your heart,” responded 
Richard promptly. 

“Now you flatter me. We were only amusing each other. 
He just impressed me as a sprightly chap, of rather dashing 
aspect, with a love of adventure, which is apparent in his 
bold, clear, spirited eye. I think that he loves his ease, the 

[ 146 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves’ 

arts, and good living, — as is indicated by his sleek, well- 
groomed appearance. Evidently, he never neglects the sar¬ 
torial side. He is a strange combination of poise and bound¬ 
less energy, which I fear, he often misdirects into quite un¬ 
worthy channels,” remarked Maxine, off-handedly. 

“Yes, indeed, — into channels not at all deserving of his 
unusual talents and native capabilities. He is one of those 
men whom we were discussing at the dinner-table, — who is 
capable of achieving more than his ambitions will ever lead 
him to. 

“But, speaking of conquests, — if I may be perfectly 
frank with you on this short acquaintance, r— I must remark 
that I do not understand how it can be possible that you, — 
with your very obvious, sympathetic nature, could have main¬ 
tained such an invulnerable position, during all the persistent 
attempts and well-established barrages, which the most eligible 
men must have made in their efforts to complete a conquest 
of your heart,” concluded Richard. 

“Well, you see, I’m peculiar. In fact, I think I’m very 
peculiar, — and by that I don’t mean that I am any remark¬ 
able exception among people in general. Every one is eccen¬ 
tric, you know, when we know them at close range. There are 
differences in degrees of eccentricity, of course; — but, after 
all, our individual peculiarities make us all very complex, — 
and difficult for another to understand. Outwardly, well-bred 
people are, as a rule, very simple, but I have never known any 
one, with whom I have been associated at all frequently, who 
has not proven to be rather intricate. That is why it is so 
difficult to adjust one’s self, permanently, to the life of an¬ 
other. In fact, I believe that is about the most difficult thing 
in the world to do successfully. Most attempts at such a life¬ 
long adjustment prove to be only compromises.” 

[ 147 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


11 Yes, I see exactly what you mean. It is the old story, — 
the thread-hare adage of fools rushing in where angels fear to 
tread, ’ ’ replied Richard, thoughtfully. 

“No, I wouldn’t put it exactly that way. It is not that 
people are either fools or foolish. It is their innate desire for 
companionship, which induces them to accept such vital com¬ 
promises. In other words, the human heart, during a period 
of loneliness, often permits its insatiable thirst for companion¬ 
ship to out-weigh the better judgment of the mind. It is more 
a case of ‘ Evil is wrought for want of thought as well as want 
of mind’.” 

“How does it happen, occasionally, that an individual, 
you, for instance, should be so well-balanced, — while most of 
the rest of us grope along, in the dark, and in our loneliness, 
impulsively commit ourselves to some alliance which works 
havoc for the rest of our days?” queried Richard, hardly 
realizing, for the moment, just how much of his own life’s 
history he had revealed by this last question. 

“It isn’t because I’m so well-balanced. In fact, it is just 
the reverse. It is because I’m so eccentric that I revolve in a 
circle, which does not have the same center as that of other 
individuals. My good fortune lies in knowing, myself, — that 
I am eccentric, — while most people don’t understand their 
own eccentricities, and would not take the time, or trouble, to 
analyze them if they did,” she concluded. 

“You interest me immensely, — more so, than any one 
whom I have met, — in a long time. Where did you originate, 
anyway, if I’m not getting to be too personal ? ’ ’ 

“I was born in Cortland, New York. You remember that 
I spoke of Cortland County. My father was a banker there; 
— whose father before him, was one of the pioneers in that 
country. Soon after I completed my course in boarding-school, 

[ 148 ] 


The Dinner at the Worthington-Hargreaves’ 

my father died. I remained at home, with my mother, for a 
year. She had suffered a serious reaction, which resulted in 
a severe physical breakdown, after my father’s death. She 
yielded so much to her grief that she went to an untimely 
death, the year after my father passed on. My two brothers, 
both older than myself, were married and settled down, — so 
I was left quite alone in the world. I had inherited a sufficient 
competence to maintain myself very comfortably; — and I 
decided, that, since there were no other demands upon me, at 
the time, that the best thing which I could do was to give 
myself the advantages of a four years ’ course in a University. 
I had spent so many years in a girls’ school, that I thought it 
would be better for me to attend a co-educational college; — 
so I entered Cornell University, — Sage College, and took my 
degree there. After that, I traveled for several years, and in 
that way, I gained material which has enabled me to con¬ 
tribute, with increasing frequency, and I believe, influence, to 
many of the standard magazines.” 

11 You’ve had a very interesting life. A cosmopolite 
always gets more out of life than the provincialite. Take my 
own case, for instance. I’ve had to remain in one place most 
of the time. Of course, I’ve taken trips, — a good many of 
them. On one occasion, I was able to make a four months’ 
trip around the world; but that was the longest period of 
time that I have ever been able to leave my business and law 
practice. So you see, that there has been inevitably a great 
deal of monotony in my life, when the events of it are con¬ 
trasted with your very unusual experience and versatility. I 
envy you all of your delightful associations, which must have 
come to you through such advantages as you have had. You 
have gained something which is a part of yourself, which can 

[ 149 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


never be taken away from you, and which will always be a 
source for the renewal of interest in life. ’ ’ 

Although Maxine had seen the world, from San Francisco 
to Cairo, and from Bagdad to the Persian Gulf, she had never 
violated the inner woman; and she never, for an instant, 
permitted others, of lesser opportunities, to feel ill-at-ease in 
her presence. 

“Provincialism is by no means confined to the dweller in 
a city or town remote from the great centers of population. It 
is found quite as often in a big metropolis. 

“In fact, there is no conceit which quite equals that of 
those who spend their lives in a great city, and who are per¬ 
fectly satisfied with its urbane limitations. They become so 
self-centered that they believe that people from smaller places 
must be narrow-minded, merely because they have never lived 
in a groove of conventional urbanity,” commented Maxine. 

“You are quite right. You always find provincialism 
where men and women do not think enough. Nowhere is it 
more noticeable than among a certain class of apparently 
well educated individuals, who regard the kind of education 
which they possess as the only kind worth having. 

“When Seward entered Lincoln’s cabinet, he looked upon 
the President as a provincial back-woodsman, but after a 
while, Seward came to recognize that Lincoln’s intellect was 
superior to his own, and, in fact, that Lincoln possessed a 
keener creative quality that that of any other American con¬ 
temporary,” Richard replied. 

“Yes, provincialism arises from a lack of sympathy,— 
from a lack of understanding of others. It is always the hall¬ 
mark of a narrow mind, whether it belongs to the educated, or 
the half-educated, or to the ignorant; — it always stands in 
the way of any great achievement. 

[ 150 ] 


The Dinner at the W orthington-TLargreaves 9 

“We can never do anything of consequence for people, 
unless we know them. We can never know them if we, in any 
degree, despise, or fail to appreciate them,” concluded Maxine. 

“Right again; I am forming the conclusion that you are 
always right; but I can’t understand yet how it is that you 
have stored up so much common sense, — so much proverbial 
compact wisdom, -— in so few years. 

“For Goodness’ sake, the party is beginning to break up. 
There must have been a hundred more guests who came after 
the dinner, — judging from those who seem to be leaving 
now. They must have kept coming all the evening. I had no 
idea that it was so late!” ejaculated Richard, as he looked at 
his watch. They had been talking earnestly for some time. 

‘ 1 So here you are! I’ve been looking all over for you! ’ ’ 
exclaimed Pratt Dickinson, as he entered one of the alcoves 
off the ball-room. 

“What are they all leaving for?” queried Richard. “It 
isn’t so late! Situated as I am, I never want to go home.” 

“They’re not all leaving, — just a few of the younger 
set, who have their instructions to come home early, and some 
of the older ones who begin to lose their ‘pep’ at the approach 
of midnight. Now is just the time when the rest of us, who 
are in fit condition, can enjoy ourselves, after the crowd gets 
away. 

“Come on, Miss Marling. They’re playing a waltz now,” 
suggested Dickinson. 

“Yes, that’s Kreisler’s Old Vienna Waltz, ‘Love’s Sor¬ 
row’,” said Maxine. “Goodnight, Mr. Radcliffe. I do hope 
that I’ll meet you again,” she said with an emphasis, which 
indicated clearly that she meant what she said. 

“Goodnight, indeed, the pleasure was all mine,” re¬ 
sponded Richard, while he pressed Maxine’s hand a little more 

[ 151 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


closely than was necessary for a merely formal goodnight. 

As the party broke up, it was most apparent that the 
directing hand of the hostess had provided for an evening’s 
entertainment, which had not been climaxed by the excess in 
drinking stimulants, which generally accompanied the society 
events of Mount Olympic. 

Loyola Hargreaves had taken care that the contents of the 
punch howl were only moderately flavored with the best 
brandy. 

Some of the boys of the younger smart set had carried 
to the party, flasks on the hip; but they had been restrained 
from excessive indulgence, by the girls, whose respect for 
Mrs. Hargreaves was nothing short of adoration. 


[ 152 ] 


CHAPTER VIII 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

I ’M HA YIN ’ my own troubles at borne. Mandy she done 
gone and sued me for a divorce. 

“Marriage sure does spoil many love affairs. There am 
too much propinquity in marriage. The deceit and extrava¬ 
gance of the wimmin, and the uprisin’ of the beast in the 
men, destroys the concord. 

“The flavorality of the cream takes away the dongtong- 
tation of the coffee, renderin’ the taste abscruse.” Thus 
spoke Rastus Riddlehouse, who, for the past five years, had 
been employed as usher in the offices of Richard Radcliffe. 

“I ain’t goin’ to offer no defense, — except to try to get 
the alimony down as low as possible. I want to talk with 
you about this, Mr. Radcliffe, whenever you have a little 
leisure,” continued Rastus, while he drew his right hand, 
nervously, through his natural marcel of well-kept, glossy, 
black hair. 

“See me right after luncheon, before you let anyone 
else in. I’ll try to straighten you out, then,” said Richard 
Radcliffe, while he reserved to himself the deliberations on 
the experiment of matrimony, which Rastus’ remarks had 
incited in his own mind. 

It seemed like a strange coincidence, that Rastus should 
have chosen to unburden himself so frankly to his master, 
on the very morning after the dinner party at the Worth- 

[ 153 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


ington-Hargreaves ’,— so soon after Richard Radcliffe had, 
rather indirectly, but nevertheless, unmistakably, disclosed 
the great secret of his life to Maxine Marling. 

Later in the day, when Rastus narrated, in his 
employer’s office, the sorry tale of his marital discord, he 
concluded his story by saying: “She just done nagged me to 
death. If I don’t happen to be right on time, — that is, if 
I’m delayed, unavoidably, in the office, for some uncontrol¬ 
lable reason, — and am late gettin’ home to dinner, — she 
done find so much fault that it just spoils the evenin’ for me. 

“We both stood it just as long as we can, but we’re so 
incompatible that there’s no use of tryin’ any longer. We’re 
both proud. Neither of us likes the disgrace of gettin’ a 
divorce; — but there’s nothin’ else to do. I s’pose that it’ll 
just ruin our social position; — but I can’t help it. You know 
I’se a deacon in the church; — and I’ll proba’ly be censured 
by the Board of Deacons; — but they just don’t know,— 
you don’t know, — nobody knows, what I’ve been through. 

“Of course, your world, Mr. Radcliffe, is entirely differ¬ 
ent from mine, — but in my way of looking at it, my social 
position is just as important to me, as yours is, — to a man 
of your dignity and position. I know you see just what I’m 
up against, and that you’ll try to make things as easy as you 
can for me, — and use your influence wherever you can to 
have a good word said for me.” 

Little did poor Rastus realize that, in thus rehearsing 
the story of his own, discordant, married life, he was nar¬ 
rating, in sequence, many incidents which ran closely par¬ 
allel to many of the experiences in his master’s own matri¬ 
monial career. 

In any event, Rastus’ story, set into vibration, a truly 
sympathetic cord, in Richard Radcliffe’s heart; and it fol- 

[ 154 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

lowed that during this crucial period in Rastus J life, there 
was no client of the Radcliffe offices, who received more 
consideration, or better service, in bringing his case to a 
satisfactory conclusion. 

That evening, when Richard arrived home, about a 
quarter of an hour late for dinner, — his tardiness having 
been due to a conference, which he had had after office hours, 
with Ralph Phipps, a young attorney, who was clerking in 
the Radcliffe offices, he was confronted by Eleanor with the 
fact that her domestic plans had been completely disarranged 
by his dilatory behavior. 

Richard had been instructing Phipps as to the best 
method of procedure to be followed in Rastus’ case. It 
occurred to Richard that he might explain this situation 
to Eleanor; — but, after sober, second thought, he decided 
that such an explanation would not bring forth her toler¬ 
ance, interest, or sympathy; — but, rather, it would bring 
upon himself, censure, and even ridicule, for permitting 
one of his employees, of such inferior rank, to inflict such 
an imposition upon him. So Richard kept his silence, as 
for many years, he had been accustomed to do, when such 
occurrences arose. 

“Hargreaves was in the office today. He is thinking of 
becoming a candidate for Congress. If he does, I shall do 
everything possible to help him to realize his political ambi¬ 
tion. If he goes to Washington, it will mean that I will have 
a great deal more to do than I have now, in the administra¬ 
tion of his affairs. This will mean much hard work and 
more responsibility for me. I shall have to make more 
frequent trips East to look after his interests there, and to 
keep in close touch with his office in Washington. Of course, 
this will bring me in a larger income, even, than I have ever 

[ 155 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


received from him before; but I’m getting to the point, 
where, if I could have my own way, I would discourage any 
attempt to increase the volume of business in my office,— 
and I would, gradually get things where I would be able to 
take life a litte more easily,” commented Richard, directly 
after he and Eleanor were seated at the dinner table. 

“Well, they say that most men, who retire from business 
early, meet with untimely deaths. My father always said 
that there was much truth in the old saying: ‘It is much 
better to wear out than to rust out’,” replied Eleanor, in a 
rather short, curt tone of voice. 

“Who said anything about retiring? You do get the 
most inexplicable ideas into your head of anyone whom I 
ever saw. It’s damn strange, merely because I suggested 
that if Hargreaves were to be elected to Congress, I would 
necessarily have to be busier with his affairs, — that you 
should jump to the conclusion that I had any idea of retiring. 
I only meant to give the impression that I do not wish to 
add to my clients, or to invite business which will make it 
necessary for me to give any of my time to the interests of 
new people. I simply can not do justice to any more clients. 
I do not need them, and I do not want them; — but, of course, 
I would be too loyal to Hargreaves’ interests to refuse to 
render him any service within my power,” explained 
Richard, while he indulged the hope that he had clarified 
matters to Eleanor’s satisfaction. 

“Well, you used to say that you couldn’t be contented 
to place any limitations upon yourself, — that you believed 
yourself capable of going just as far, in achieving distinc¬ 
tion and in accumulating wealth, as any other man,” re¬ 
marked Eleanor, in such a way as to remind Richard that 

[ 156 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

he might possibly be losing his strenuous grip on the sterner 
facts of life. 

“Yes, but you must admit that I have no great incentive 
in my life, for the achievement of bigger things. Years ago, 
when I was so inordinately ambitious, you used to tell me 
that if a man had enough to keep him busy, and could make 
sufficient money to insure him a comfortable old age, that 
he ought to be satisfied.’’ 

“I don’t know what you mean, when you say you have 
no great incentive for working any longer. I should think 
that the satisfaction of accomplishing something, would be 
so well-worth looking forward to, that, that alone, would 
furnish you with all the incentive which you would need,” 
she said reprovingly. 

“Your theory is all right, as an abstract proposition, 
but it falls short, when applied on a concrete basis. 

“For instance, I have no children to take pride in my 
achievements. That inspiration is lacking in my life. For 
the last few years, I have been rather inclined to proceed 
along the line of least resistance. If I can help Hargreaves, 
any, in his efforts to achieve distinction in public service, I 
shall look upon it as a privilege. Whatever may be said of 
him, he has both appreciation and gratitude, in his make-up. 
His talents may not be much above the average, and his 
capacity for statesmanship is, no doubt, limited; but, at the 
same time, if he is elected to office, I am sure that he will be 
loyal to the interests of his constituents, and grateful to 
those who are instrumental in putting him into office. 

“He tells me that Mrs. Hargreaves is very much inter¬ 
ested to have him succeed in political life, and that she is his 
chief inspiration. It seems that her friend, Miss Marling, 
has had considerable experience as a student of economics, 

[ 157 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


and a writer on political subjects. Loyola thought that Miss 
Marling could give Hargreaves some valuable suggestions 
directly from the school of her own training, because she 
has contacted, at close hand, many of the most prominent 
men and women in public life. Her associations have been 
very broad. She has had entree to many of the best social 
sets of the world, and she has hobnobbed with the most 
representative people in several of the big capitals, — espe¬ 
cially, in Rome, Paris, London, New York and Washington. 

“I think it’s mighty broad of Loyola to look so far ahead 
in figuring out things to help Hargreaves along. One thing 
is certain, he appreciates Loyola. Men often say that he is 
mediocre; but I don’t call it mediocrity, when a man has 
the judgment to listen to the right people, and to seek advice 
from the right sources. In fact, I classify that sort of 
ability as a kind of genius. Genius, you know, sees oppor¬ 
tunity at a glance. Talent comprehends more slowly; and I 
call it genius, when a man is willing to solicit and accept 
the best advice he can get,” concluded Richard. 

“Well, I don’t see what he needs of that Miss Marling 
to help him. I should think that he would have to depend, 
for his assistance, upon the people in his own community, 
and your management of his campaign.” 

“Miss Marling has had most extraordinary opportunities 
for observing the processes of finesse and strategy, in the 
science of politics. She has a woman’s intuition, which 
accentuates her own peculiar, mental acuteness; — so, in 
that way, her assistance to Hargreaves will be invaluable. 

“Under the circumstances, I think it would be a rather 
fitting compliment, if we were to entertain, at a dinner party, 
in honor of Miss Marling. The Hargreaves have very seldom 
been invited to dine in our home, and I think, this time, that 


[ 158 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

instead of going to the Club, we had better try to have them 
here,” suggested Richard. 

“Well, you know that is out of the question, with only 
one servant in the house.” 

“I don't see why you don’t get another servant. For 
several years now, I have been suggesting that you should 
keep a second girl, and if two servants can not take care 
of the house properly, I want you to have three. 

“Every time that I suggest having company, I’m tired 
of hearing you say that you can’t do it, because you haven’t 
enough help. You always offer that as an excuse for not 
entertaining our friends,” remonstrated Richard. 

“It is so much trouble to break in new helpers, and 
teach them, that I prefer to do with only Freida. I have 
no desire to branch out, and make a practice of entertaining. 
I don’t intend to wear myself out in social activities,” re¬ 
plied Eleanor, somewhat impatiently. 

“Well,” continued Richard, “if I will hire DeJeanne, 
the caterer, to take charge of things, will you have the 
Worthington-Hargreaves and Miss Marling, and some of our 
other friends, to dinner, some time next week?” 

“I don’t see any reason for going to all that trouble. I 
don’t know why we should be called upon to go to a large 
amount of expense for an elaborate entertainment, in honor 
of someone who is only here, temporarily, as a guest of the 
Hargreaves. I don’t think they would expect any such 
thing,” answered Eleanor, who was somewhat shocked at 
Richard’s extravagant suggestion. 

“I don’t look at it that way. The Hargreaves have 
always included us, whenever they have given any note¬ 
worthy, social event, in their home. They have entertained 
us a great deal more than we have ever entertained them. 

[ 159 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Besides, we nearly always take them to the Club, whenever 
we do entertain them. For my part, I can see no reason 
why we should not have them in our home oftener. 

4 ‘It seems to me, when I consider the amount of money 
which we have tied up in this place, that we ought to be 
equipped to share our home, more often, with our friends. 
We might just as well live in a hotel, so far as home privileges 
are concerned. In a hotel, I would have greater freedom and 
liberty in entertaining. I worked for many years, in order 
to be able to provide this kind of a home, and so far as I 
can see, we might just as well have remained in our cottage, 
— that is, estimating things from the standpoint of comfort 
and convenience. 

“I have made up my mind that I want to have the Har¬ 
greaves and Miss Marling here to dinner. I think I’m 
entitled to that much self-indulgence in my own pleasure. 
If you don’t want them here, I will engage a private dining¬ 
room, at the Club, and have DeJeanne serve one of his most 
elaborate dinners. I will spend a great deal more than it 
would be necessary to do, if we were to entertain our friends 
here; — but I am determined to carry out my plan to give a 
dinner for the Hargreaves and Miss Marling, — and to make 
it an event, which will compare favorably with the standards 
of entertainment, which the Hargreaves are accustomed to 
give. Now, it’s up to you to say, whether we shall have it 
here, or whether I shall make arrangements tomorrow morn¬ 
ing to have the dinner at the Club,” concluded Richard, with 
a firmness and self-assertion, which made Eleanor realize 
that Richard’s mind was made up. 

“Well, if you insist, I think we can manage to have it 
here at the house,” assented Eleanor. 

“Very well, I’ll see De Jeanne, then, and tell him to 

[ 160 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

come up here to talk it over with you. Now, understand, 
that I don’t want you to spare any expense in making this 
event distinctive in every way.” These were Richard’s final 
instructions, which Eleanor determined that she would carry 
out; but, at the same time, she assured Richard that her 
consent to give this function, should not be understood as 
establishing a precedent, which she would follow in the 
future. 

The dinner at the Richard Radcliffes’, which occurred 
on Tuesday evening, of the following week, was a success, — 
much more of a success, in fact, than Richard had antici¬ 
pated. 

DeJeanne did his best, — a little better than his usual 
best. Every course, from the Potage Saint Germain to the 
Caviar and Squab, with the vegetable accompaniments and 
relishes, was palatable and appetizing. The Waldorf Salad 
and Maple Frango, the latter, DeJeanne’s special confection, 
were prepared with all the skill, which that connoisseur of 
artistic cookery, could command, and represented the Chef’s 
highest skill in aesthetic proficiency. 

The center-piece was a uniquely designed Wistaria 
Arbor, in miniature, combined with violets and sweetheart 
roses. The corsages were carmine red roses, surrounded by 
violets. Eleanor had deliberated, for some time, before she 
decided upon these expensive decorations, for it was a season 
of the year when only hot-house violets could be procured, 
and while she almost staggered in amazement, when De¬ 
Jeanne quoted his prices for the flowers, — at the same 
time, her sense of the artistic asserted itself and predomi¬ 
nated over her innate, economical tendency, — as it had done 
both times in her life, when she had found herself called 
upon to furnish the cottage, in which they began house- 

[ 161 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

keeping, and later, the more elaborate dwelling, which was 
now their home. 

Eleanor had almost fainted, when Richard brought home 
from the Club, some carefully selected, choice liquors, from 
his private stock. She was simply horrified at the idea of 
serving intoxicating drinks in her home, and all of her 
conservative traditions revolted against the thought of 
breaking the law in their State. Once more, however, 
Richard insisted upon having his own way, with the result, 
that the Martini Cocktails, Dubonnet Wine, and Brandy 
Cordial added, not a little, to the conviviality of the conver¬ 
sation around the table. 

Maxine was seated at Richard’s right. She wore a soft 
Charmeuse evening gown of turquoise blue, trimmed with 
narrow strips of beaver fur. She looked so rested and re¬ 
freshed, that her animated features radiated a glow and 
warmth and interest in living, which was so full of spon¬ 
taneity, that her very presence was an inspiration. 

Eleanor, who presided at the other end of the table, at 
which there were seated twelve guests, not including the 
host and hostess, was rather nervous, and kept a watchful 
eye on every movement of DeJeanne and his helpers. This 
nervousness, however, imparted a healthful color to her 
cheeks, which afforded a pleasing contrast with her very 
stunning, black velvet gown, trimmed with rare, old Vene¬ 
tian lace medallions. 

“I’ve been looking forward to the pleasure of seeing 
you again, ever since the dinner at the Hargreaves. If I 
thought that it were possible for you to look any better than 
you did on that occasion, I would say that you look better 
tonight than you did then. I hope you’ve been enjoying 
yourself, since you’ve had an opportunity to recuperate from 

[ 162 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

the fatigue of your long journey across the continent/’ 
remarked Richard to Maxine, as soon as they were seated 
at the table. 

“Yes, indeed; and I hope that life has been just full and 
brimming over with good things for you, ever since I saw 
you,” she replied, with her usual animation of expression. 

“Oh, things have been tolerably good, — just about so 
so, — nothing at all to go crazy about. 

“As I told you, when we had our little visit, — we 
provincial people have to be satisfied, from day to day, with 
the average busy hum-drum of life, — without hitting the 
high spots very often. 

“We are different from you Easterners, who are so 
accustomed to seeing, and hearing, and knowing, about 
everything and everybody. 

“But when you have such numerous opportunities for 
experiencing so much, do you ever feel, —of course, I know 
you don’t, — because you have such a keen interest in every¬ 
thing,— but I mean, don’t you think that many people, 
who have the advantages of great breadth of association, 
nearly always have their sensibilities deadened, by excessive 
enjoyment, so that they become blase?” 

“Yes, there is a great deal in what you have just said. 
The effete East, while it has, by no means, become exhausted 
in its energies, — has a certain surfeit of excess, which some¬ 
times cloys, — and yet, there are many people in the world 
whose lives have been full of varied experiences, who have 
never indulged themselves to the point of satiety, in the so- 
called, sophisticated pursuits of life.” 

“And you are one of those people? I envy you your 
capacity for sustained enjoyment, and the freedom of your 
soul from the awful fate of boredom with life. Do you 


[ 163 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


think that yon can hold out to the end of the game with your 
same fresh outlook in the art of living ?” he queried. 

“Well, of course, it is always dangerous to say what 
one will, and will not, do, in the future. I wouldn’t like 
to commit myself by any rash assurances; but, at the same 
time, I have a strong faith, based upon what I believe to be 
the animating, guiding principle of my life, that I will be 
able to hold out, as you say, to the end, with the earnest 
conviction that whatever is best for me will always enter 
my consciousness at the right time, so that I will be able to 
initiate and follow whatever course of action will result 
in my highest interest. I believe that this principle, of 
which I speak, is an innately, vital part of everyone, and 
that it will always enable us to make the right decisions for 
ourselves, if we will only permit ourselves to be guided by 
it,” she concluded, very earnestly. 

“That is a very wonderful philosophy. I wish that I 
could believe in it as strongly as you do. It has evidently 
taken hold of you, — and, if it would do for me as much as 
it is obvious that it has done for you, I would strive, with all 
the force of my being, to embrace your refreshing, vitalizing 
theory of life.” 

“It is very simple, — so simple, that one has only to 
resign one’s self passively to its ruling principle, — and 
then, just know that everything will work out according to 
this rule, for one’s greatest interest and satisfaction and 
happiness.” 

“Your theory is not only optimistic, but progressive. 
According to it, nothing in the universe can ever be lost or 
wasted,” he said, thoughtfully. 

“Doesn’t everything in nature, — in the harmony of the 
whole universe, — sustain directly the theory of universal 

[ 164 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

economy, — in the distribution of nature’s benefits, and in 
the application of her unalterable laws?” 

“Yes, it does, — only few people observe this, thought¬ 
fully. They don’t, as a rule, stop to get any lesson from 
this. We are all so busy with our own petty, material 
affairs, that we don’t heed, as we should, the multitude of 
obvious teachings of the Creator, which are right at our 
door.” 

“We’ll discuss all these things more fully at some future 
time, I hope,” she said, in an interested manner, just before 
she turned to speak to Pratt Dickinson, who, up to this 
time, had been entertaining, with his usual line of small talk, 
little Priscilla Payette. Just at this instant, there was a lull 
in the conversation, and Maxine’s sense of politeness re¬ 
strained her, for the time, from continuing her conversation 
with her very interesting host. 

Pratt Dickinson’s vanity had been somewhat wounded, 
by Maxine’s apparent, absorbing interest in Richard Rad¬ 
cliffe’s conversation, at the beginning of the dinner,— 
especially since Dickinson had taken it upon himself to 
bestow many courtesies upon Maxine, by complimenting 
her by giving a luncheon at the Olympic Club in her honor, 
and by inviting her to play golf with him at the Country 
Club. Dickinson was so accustomed to have his attentions 
to women flatteringly received, that he was always quick to 
observe any apathetic, or indifferent attitude of his social 
favorites. 

Maxine possessed a frankness of manner, which was 
refreshing, hut, at the same time, she was keenly observant 
of the amenities of social intercourse, and so desirous of 
being agreeable that she often sacrificed, for the moment, the 
pleasure of conversing with someone whom she really liked, 

[ 165 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


for the sake of expressing, or furthering pleasantness, or 
smoothness in affable society. 

With all her frankness, she understood the art of feeding 
the vanity of men. All men liked her. She had a very astute 
faculty for recognizing the best and strongest attributes 
of their characters; and an equally tactful quality in never, 
apparently, observing or remarking upon their faults. 

She had studied social diplomacy, until, to her, it had 
become a science. She had sensitized her mind and soul to 
such a degree, that she had more feeling than characterizes 
most women; — even the best women. Men understood her 
better than women; they liked her better, too. But all 
women observed and studied her with keen interest, because 
many of them knew, in their own hearts, that she possessed 
something which they lacked and which men liked. The 
great mystery, among her women friends and acquaintances, 
was to determine, definitely, this unknown attribution. Other 
women, of supposed remarkable beauty and attractiveness, 
were often neglected, while she was courted and admired. 

Her companionability made her lovable. She had a 
powerful, quick, sympathetic understanding, and a sensitive¬ 
ness, which enabled her to communicate this instantly to 
others. Such understanding is a greater feminine asset than 
mere conventional beauty or meteoric brilliancy. With it 
all she had tolerance, a pleasant maturity, — and a settled 
mentality. In the words of one of her admirers, she was Joy 
and Cheerfulness and Laughter and Optimism, with just the 
right proportion of these ingredients combined in one per¬ 
sonality. She could be equally entertaining and interesting 
to the man, who needed only a listener, or, to the one, who 
preferred a tincture of feminine wisdom, now and then, and 
the stimulation of a woman’s wit. She knew too much to 


[ 166 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

over-awe men by what she knew, and they knew it, and 
applauded her cleverness. 

She knew, too, that which every woman ought to know, 
that in the competition which exists among women, for the 
attentions and devotion and protection of men, that when 
any woman, married or single, fails to cultivate any essential 
feminine attribute, womanly grace or attraction, necessary 
to hold her admirer, lover or husband, that there is always 
somewhere in the world “ANOTHER WOMAN,” sufficiently 
wide-awake to her opportunities, to acquire for herself that 
special charm, or combination of charms, which will win and 
hold the affections of that particular man. She realized, too, 
that many women, either because of too much self-confidence, 
or because they do not appreciate the keenness of the com¬ 
petition, fail to make the most of themselves, in some part 
of their development, — physically, mentally, or spiritually. 

Maxine knew that this was true of many of her married 
women friends, who had lapsed back, as it were, through 
their failure to keep themselves up to pre-marriage stand¬ 
ards of appearance, animation and interest. They had, in 
too many cases, taken it for granted that because an honor¬ 
able man had promised, forever, to love, cherish and protect 
them, that that was all there was to it. They had failed to 
realize that in matrimony, as in a business or profession, one 
must make good every day if a high standard of success is to 
be achieved. They had gone too much upon the theory of 
passive acquiescence to the commonplace, instead of awaking 
to the fact that a happy marriage, like every other good thing 
in life, must be earned. 

Maxine had resolved, if possible, to escape the tragedy 
of an unhappy marriage; — in fact, it was second nature to 
her to try to keep out of trouble. If she had not been able 

[ 167 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


to rely upon her own mental resources and ideal disposition 
for happiness, she would have been very lonely at times; but, 
fortunately, her intensely social personality, always brought 
her agreeable companionship. 

Following the dinner at the Richard-Radcliffes, the party 
retired to the parlor and library, where they played auction. 
Richard saw to it, that he should have Maxine for a partner. 
They won five rubbers out of seven, scoring heavily, both 
above and below the line. In the last hand, the player at 
Richard’s left dealt, and made the first bid two hearts. 
Maxine, who sat directly opposite Richard, doubled the 
hearts. The player at her left bid three spades. Richard said 
three no-trumps. This was doubled by his adversary. 
Richard doubled him back and played the hand so skilfully 
that he made a grand slam;—thus carrying off, with Maxine, 
the highest honors of the evening. 

A few days after this event at the Radcliffes, Edith 
Compton invited Eleanor to attend a matinee with her. It 
was a performance of Robert Mantell in Macbeth. Mrs. 
Compton had not been able to get her tickets until Wednes¬ 
day morning, and so, she had invited Eleanor at the last 
moment. 

In speaking of the theatrical attractions, which were 
offered in Mount Olympic, let it be understood that this 
town was, after all, a real city of many cosmopolitan features, 
and that its name constitutes only a simile, which will afford 
an opportunity for an imaginative comparison with just such 
a city, as, in reality, exists on the Pacific coast. 

Edith Compton and Eleanor took their seats in the 
Majestic Theatre just before the curtain rose. Eleanor 
glanced across the aisle at her left, and observed in the 
second row forward, the back of a man’s head, which seemed 


[ 168 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

to her strangely familiar. Then, suddenly, she knew it was 
Richard. 

“How strange!” she thought. “He never attended a 
matinee, to my knowledge, unless it was a vaudeville per¬ 
formance, and then, only on Saturdays,” Eleanor said to 
herself. 

She had never known him to leave his business for any 
amusement, outside of the Club, on a week-day. He had 
not mentioned to her that he intended to go to the theatre; 
and now, as Eleanor looked to the right of Richard, she 
noticed that her husband was talking to a woman, who, as 
she turned her head, to Eleanor’s surprise, — proved to be 
Maxine Marling. And they seemed to be having such a 
good time, too. 

Eleanor was, at once, ill at ease, — unhappy; in fact, 
wretched. She hoped that Edith Compton would not observe 
Richard and Maxine. Evidently, Edith didn’t. If she did, 
she was too considerate of Eleanor’s feelings to make men¬ 
tion of it. 

This was the first time in Eleanor Radcliffe’s life when 
any incident had ever diverted her interest from a Shake¬ 
spearean play, but so far as she was concerned,—she did not 
know whether Lady Macbeth was walking in her sleep or 
tight-rope dancing, — when it came time for this remarkable, 
dramatic interpretation. 

All the Scotch history, which Eleanor had ever known, 
seemed to fade from her memory. Malcolm might have 
been the King of Scotland, or the hero or the villain, for all 
that she knew. 

All that she wanted was to have the curtain rung down 
on the fifth act, without Edith Compton’s detecting that 
Richard and Maxine were in each other’s company. 


[ 169 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


After more than three hours of actual torture, com¬ 
mingled with alternating emotions of fear, anxiety; disgust 
and anger; the inevitable moment came, and it seemed to 
Eleanor that she had lived as many years that afternoon as 
were in the epochs of all the Scottish history from Duncan 
to Malcolm. She bade Edith a cordial good-bye, saying that 
she must hasten home, as it was Freida’s day out, for that 
particular week, and that she, herself, must prepare the 
dinner. 

Just as Eleanor was ascending the steps, leading to her 
home, she heard the telephone ring. She unlocked the door 
hurriedly, — entered the hall, and took the receiver to her 
ear. 

It was Richard. 

“I only wanted to say that I am detained by an im¬ 
portant business engagement, and I will not be home for 
dinner. 

“I know that it is Freida’s day out, so you will not mind, 
and it will save you the trouble of getting dinner.’’ 

1 ‘Very well,” said Eleanor, in a very cool, reserved tone. 
“I suppose you will be here about nine o’clock?” Even 
under this circumstance, Eleanor was too mindful of the 
proprieties of social conventions to bring up any matters of 
domestic delicacy on the telephone. 

“I can not tell when I will be home,” answered Richard. 
“The matter is of great moment, and it is indefinite as to 
when I shall be able to break away, — but I will be home as 
soon as I can get there. Good-bye.” 

Richard hung up the receiver. 

Eleanor had the first suspicions of her life, — except 
for the time when Richard had taken Helen Hammond home, 
many years before. However, at that time, she had accepted 

[ 170 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

Richard’s explanation, as the whole truth, — and in her 
final conclusions, she had completely dismissed the matter. 
Now, she believed that Richard was actually misleading and 
deceiving her about some of his engagements. 

How many times had he done this before? What was 
really keeping him? With whom was he spending his time 
at this very moment ? 

All these questions passed through Eleanor’s mind in 
rapid succession. And now, what would she say when he 
returned home? She remembered that she had been very 
hasty at the time of the Helen Hammond incident. Possibly, 
now, if she were to hold on to herself, Richard would make 
some satisfactory explanation, which would clear up matters. 

In any event, she had the evening in which to think the 
situation over. It would probably be better to wait and 
give Richard an opportunity to say something first; — but if 
he didn’t tell her frankly, — a straightforward story, as to 
how he had spent the afternoon and evening, — then she 
would open up on him with all the verbal artillery of which 
her unlimited vocabulary was capable. 

After several hours of feverish and painful uneasiness 
and worry, which had prevented her from occupying herself 
otherwise, — Eleanor heard Richard’s footsteps on the 
veranda. It was nearly midnight. 

“Bicknell was in town tonight, and we had to go over 
that matter about the franchises; but I had no idea that 
it would take until this hour! 

“He couldn’t get into town until after dinner; so he 
called me on the long distance about noon, and told me of 
his delay. This broke up my plans for the afternoon; — so I 
decided that I would go to see Macbeth. You know I haven’t 
seen a Shakespearean play in a good many years. I tried 

[ 171 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


to get you on the telephone, after I heard from Bieknell, but 
they said you didn’t answer, and so I made up my mind 
that I would go alone. I was late getting my ticket, of 
course, — and when I took my seat, — who should happen 
to be sitting next to me, — but Miss Marling, — Loyola’s 
friend. I’m sorry that I couldn’t get you, because I know 
how you enjoy Shakespeare,” apologized Richard, after he 
had seated himself in front of the fire-place. 

“I went out early to do some marketing. Just before I 
started, Edith telephoned to me and invited me to go with 
her to see Macbeth; so I went down town to do some errands 
and did not come back home until after the matinee,” replied 
Eleanor, — her fears and suspicions now being entirely 
allayed. 

“Well, where did you sit?” queried Richard. 

“In the fifth row, right side aisle,” answered Eleanor. 

“Well, it was strange we didn’t see each other,” com¬ 
mented Richard. 

“Oh, I don’t know. We went in just before the curtain. 
The house was very dark, — and during the intermission, we 
were so busy, discussing the parts and characters, that I 
didn’t look around much,” replied Eleanor, in a nonchalant 
manner, — her pride preventing her from acknowledging 
to Richard, — that she would ever, for one moment, be¬ 
lieve that he would invite another woman to attend the 
theatre with him, — without Eleanor, herself, being pres¬ 
ent. Anyway, there would be no point, she thought, in 
letting Richard know that she had seen him, — because, 
he would have at once asked her the question, — Well, 
what did you think when you saw us? Or he might have 
said: You must have thought it mighty strange! So, Eleanor 

[ 172 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

thought it most discreet to let the occurrence pass, without 
further comments. 

“I have a mighty hard day ahead of me tomorrow. 
There is a big fight on over the renewal of the franchises 
of the street railway company. Mayor Buell is such an 
agitator that he has the public all stirred up, over municipal 
ownership of public utilities. I don’t know how matters 
will turn out. I understand that the radicals in town have 
their plans all made for a general strike, and that they are 
going to tie up transportation and all other public con¬ 
veniences, so far as possible. All the employees, who decide 
to join the strikers, will challenge to combat all the non¬ 
strikers, and those who volunteer to take the places made 
vacant by those who stop work. That means that the street 
car and telephone service will be shut off. I understand, too, 
that all the waiters in the restaurants and hotels of the city, 
intend to walk out. 

“For my part, I have no patience with any movement 
which stirs up forces of destructive discontent. I believe in 
constructive discontent, because that will inspire men and 
women to better their condition; but I can not see any merit 
in militant or violent methods. 

“In any event, I do not propose to stand by and sanction 
unruly and unlawful conduct, in the administration of the 
every-day services to which the public is entitled. Today, 
a committee of men waited upon Mayor Buell and requested 
him to appoint me chairman of a Committee of Public Wel¬ 
fare,— the purpose of which is to see that there shall be no 
coercive, or forceful interference with the service of Public 
Utilities. I intend, as the Chief Executive of this Committee, 
to use my full authority to enforce the orderly processes of 
the law. I anticipate that there will be plenty of trouble. 

[ 173 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


The situation looks very bad tonight, — so I am going to bed 
and try to get a good night’s sleep,” Richard informed 
Eleanor, just as she had come to the conclusion not to men¬ 
tion further the incidents in connection with their attend¬ 
ance at the theatre that afternoon. 

The next morning, when Richard was only a few blocks 
from home, driving his car down town, he observed that the 
Radicals had carried out all of their threats of the previous 
day. There were no street cars running. He drove a little 
farther along, and noticed that all the patrons of public 
dining-rooms were being turned away, by the refusal of 
service. As soon as he reached his office, he found the tele¬ 
phone service also cut off. In a few minutes, Roger Blake- 
man, who was still Prosecuting Attorney for Olympic County, 
arrived at Radcliffe’s office to inform him that matters were 
rapidly approaching a very critical stage. Blakeman re¬ 
ported that large numbers of the strikers were already 
armed, and that they proposed, by the force of arms, to 
prevent the non-strikers and substitute workers from per¬ 
forming their duties. It was inevitable that, within a few 
hours, the situation would amount to civil war. Something 
must be done at once. 

4 ‘You know, Blakeman, that I have never done much 
with a gun. I have never been a crack-shot as a hunter. 
You can beat me all out at that game. I never threatened a 
man’s life but once, — and then my gun wasn’t even loaded; 
— but I felt so sure that the man whom I threatened was 
an absolute coward, — that I knew I could call his bluff 
without committing any act of violence. 

“Now I believe that I can restore order out of this 
chaos, without even carrying an unloaded gun. I am not 
afraid to try it, anyway. You say that there is a great mass 

[ 174 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

of people around the City Hall. I think I will make a 
speech from the top steps, and see what I can do,” Radcliffe 
assured Blakeman, and then walked over to the coat-room 
off his office, put on his soft, gray, felt hat, and started 
toward the door. 

On their way to the City Hall, Radcliffe spoke very 
earnestly, concerning the necessity of deputizing a large 
number of subordinates, who should be vested with the 
authority to make arrests and lodge in jail, all strikers or 
disturbers of the peace, who interfered with the non-strikers 
and volunteer workers. 

“That is going to be a very difficult thing to do, if they 
resort to resistance by the use of fire-arms,” commented 
Blakeman, who lacked much of the physical courage, fiery 
imagination, and intensely forceful personality, of Richard 
Radcliffe. 

“We can never fail in anything,—we can never fall 
down in any undertaking, unless we first admit failure to 
ourselves. Undisciplined men of distorted vision, common¬ 
place imagination, and cowardly motives attempt to gain 
their ends by just such weak, destructive methods, as these 
strikers are using. They look upon coercion as their most 
powerful weapon, for geting what they want, — when, as a 
matter of fact, they could accomplish their desired results 
to better advantage, if they would work gradually to build 
up a higher standard of efficiency and a more substantial, — 
finer ideal of service,” concluded Radcliffe, while he and 
Blakeman made their way through the City Hall, to the 
spot where Richard proposed to address the disorganized, 
unkempt, erratic mob. 

As soon as Radcliffe faced the crowd, cries of “Down 
with him!” “Put him out!” “We won’t listen to that Pluto- 


[ 175 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


crat!” “Throw him down the steps!” and so on, emanated 
from the angry, tempestuous mass of revolting men and 
women, who thronged the streets and open spaces, sur¬ 
rounding the City Hall. 

Radcliffe raised his hand. It was a well-groomed, soft, 
pliable hand. There was a magnetism about it, which was in 
keeping with the magnetic quality of his stern, dominating, 
relentless figure, which radiated so much of force, courage 
and poise. That he was an unusually well-balanced indi¬ 
vidual was obvious, even to the most illiterate and unlearned. 

“Every man has the right to quit employment and every 
man has the right to seek employment. I sympathize with 
every man and woman who really wants to improve the con¬ 
ditions under which they live. But is there any man or 
woman here who is so weak that he is willing to admit that 
he can not improve himself and his way of living, without 
resorting to breaking the law by violence? I can not believe 
that any man among you has such a feeble imagination, — so 
little conception of the right kind of freedom, — such a 
narrow, cramped vision, that he will voluntarily put himself 
in a class of men, who believe that they can only gain 
advancement in life, by resorting to the methods used by 
ordinary criminals. If, you men who have just refused to 
work, can truthfully say to yourselves that you have tried in 
every possible way to perform your labors as thoroughly and 
skilfully as it is within your ability and power to perform 
them, — then, there is some measure of justification for your 
dissatisfaction with the results which you are getting; — 
but, if there is any man among you who has not rendered the 
best service of which he is capable, then, there can be no 
justice in that man’s erratic discontent and unreasonable 
outburst of wrath against his employer. A man who does 

[ 176 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

his work as well as it can be done is deserving of promotion 
and reward. A man who does not perform his tasks as well 
as he is capable of doing, does not deserve an opportunity 
to remain a factor in the industrial world. 

1 ‘Every man owes it to himself to maintain a vigorous, 
wholesome self-respect. He can not claim this attribute of 
character if his conduct forces him to admit that he is too 
weak to make a comfortable living, without resorting to 
violating the law, and to the extreme measures of preventing 
a brother workman from taking his place, when he, himself, 
refuses to work. 

“You all know that there is another, still bigger duty, 
which every citizen owes to the community in which he lives, 
and that is the obligation to make life as tolerable, and liv¬ 
able, and happy, as possible, for every one else. Everyone 
must do his part, in order to make any town or city the right 
kind of a place in which to live. 

“I have been appointed by the Mayor to serve as Chair¬ 
man of the Committee on Public Welfare, and I have come 
here to seek the assistance and cooperation of every man who 
is listening to me, and of every man whom you may have an 
opportunity to tell of my request. 

“I want you to help me give to this town an enviable 
reputation for peace, and order, and prosperity. If you are 
willing to help me to do this, I feel confident that our indus¬ 
tries will take on new life, and that this city will become a 
great center of constructive activity and permanent, civic 
and industrial progress. 

“I have been given the job of restoring order among 
you. I hope that it will not be necessary for me to appeal 
to force, in order to overcome the prevailing disorder and 
disturbance. However, in the event, that there are those 

[ 177 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


among you of such unruly and ungovernable spirit that you 
will make it necessary for us to combat your opposition and 
law-breaking, by forceful methods, I have given an order 
to the officers of the law to increase the number of their 
deputies, sufficiently, to enable them to take care of any 
incorrigible offenders. 

“If there is anyone among you who expects that he can 
make half as much trouble for anyone else as we are already 
prepared to make for him, in the event of his resistance to 
lawful authority, I respectfully suggest that he can only save 
himself for future usefulness by getting himself outside of 
our city limits as soon as his legs can carry him, ,, and with 
this final, decisive, positive utterance, Richard Radcliffe re¬ 
tired, amidst the roaring, vociferous cheers of the multitude, 
which had listened to him with awe and wonder. 

There was no further outbreak of violence. Things were 
just naturally brought to rights again, by the most quiet, 
orderly processes of law and behavior. 

There was some mumbling and grumbling, of course, 
among those of such irreconcilable spirit, that their better 
natures were impervious to a strong, straightforward appeal. 

The personality of an unconquerable soul had triumphed 
over a radical, revolutionary, unbalanced mob. When it 
came to a question of battling with life, Radcliffe was a born 
fighter, not for the sake of the fight, but for the victory 
which he won by it. He was a born optimist. In the gravest 
emergencies, his courage or hopes never failed him. There 
was still in his character and make-up the same capacity for 
finesse and strategy, — the same rigid determination, — the 
same indomitable resolution, — and the same steadfastness 
of purpose and soul, which had helped him to win the case 

[ 178 ] 


Richard Radcliffe Asserts Himself 

for Lem Simpkins, and which had enabled him to save the 
life of Red Feather Alki. 

But with all of Radcliffe’s masterfulness of character, 
with all of his ability to command obedience, when he told 
one man to go and another to come, — there was one thing 
in his life with which he had never been able to cope success¬ 
fully. 


[ 179 ] 


CHAPTER IX 


Richard and Maxine 

u OO YOU think you won’t attend the meeting in the 
Auditorium with me tonight? You know this is the 
last night before election, and I think that Hargreaves will 
win by a big majority tomorrow, even if the rest of the 
National ticket falls down,” remarked Richard, while he 
placed a fir log on the hearth, — so as to keep the fire going 
until he would return late in the evening from the campaign 
rally. 

“No, I don’t believe that I will go. I have heard Har¬ 
greaves speak and I have read so much about the issues in 
this campaign, that I don’t imagine there will be anything 
really new presented tonight,” answered Eleanor, while she 
continued to knit on a soft, white wool sweater. 

“Yes, I know that you’ve heard Hargreaves, — but you 
haven’t heard Miss Marling make a speech yet. She’s really 
made a remarkably effective campaign in all of the Pacific 
Coast States. She has been featured everywhere by the 
National Committee. They say that her arguments are very 
original, and that she presents them with wit and logic; — 
so I’m very anxious to hear what she has to say. 

“Hargreaves tells me that she is very different from the 
average woman speaker, because she does not play so much 
upon what we men call the ‘Sob Sister’ issues. Her political 
acumen is unusually keen. I think you’re really missing it, 

[ 180 ] 


Richard and Maxine 

by staying at home tonight,” commented Richard, while he 
donned his big ulster top-coat, preparatory to leaving the 
house. 

“I’m not the least bit interested in hearing any woman 
make a political speech. That sort of thing has never 
appealed to me,” replied Eleanor, who was as true to her 
conservative, political teachings, as she had always been to 
her reactionary traditions. 

“As a rule, women speakers have not appealed to me, 
either; — but if Miss Marling is as good a campaign speaker 
as she is brilliant as a conversationalist, then, I am perfectly 
willing to listen to her,” concluded Richard, just as he 
opened the door. 

On this eventful night, Maxine Marling was scheduled to 
speak from the same platform with the Senior United States 
Senator, representing the State in which Mount Olympic 
is situated. 

These two speakers were to be followed by Humphrey 
Hargreaves, candidate for Congress from the Mount Olympic 
District. 

The Auditorium was full to overflowing. Maxine had 
the first place on the program. This was the first time in the 
life of United States Senator Wainwright, when a woman 
speaker had appeared with him to discuss National issues. 
He had not looked forward to this event, with any pleasur¬ 
able degree of anticipation. In fact, he questioned the judg¬ 
ment of those who had charge of the Speakers’ Bureau of the 
National Committee, — in permitting women speakers to 
appear simultaneously with the masculine orators of the 
campaign. 

“So you want me to speak first? You’ve shown me 
much consideration. I shall take only twenty minutes,” 


[ 181 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

Maxine said to Senator Wainwright, at the opening of the 
meeting. 

When she had spoken twenty minutes, the impression 
which she had made upon the audience, was so profound, 
interesting and electrifying; and Senator Wainwright was, 
himself, so delighted, that he insisted, most definitely and 
emphatically, that Maxine should continue her speech. As 
soon as she was satisfied that Senator Wainwright was in 
earnest, she went on, — in her magnetic, eloquent style, — 
illuminating her discourse by brilliant wit and humor, and 
occasionally, satire, — in such an appealing, convincing 
manner, that she had not only the interest and attention of 
those of her own political faith, — but she was beginning to 
make a worth-while impression upon those, in the audience, 
of opposite political views. Before she concluded her speech, 
she had the hearty sympathy and demonstrative support of, 
at least, nine-tenths of her audience. Many of those “who 
came to scoff remained to pray,” to quote figuratively from 
the much adored and reverenced poet. 

One thing was very sure, she had made many votes and 
she had not lost any. Some of the strongest minded of the 
adversaries of the political party which she represented, at 
least, thought over what she had been saying. They admitted 
the fairness, consistency, and good-sportsmanship of her 
political arguments, — even though they could not have been 
won over to the doctrines of their opponents by the greatest 
orator in the world. Indeed, many of them were so hard- 
headed and obstinate, that it would have been as practical to 
attempt to scale the ramparts of Jehovah and pluck from 
Heaven’s diadem, its brightest star, as it would have been to 
try to change their political convictions. An opinion, espe¬ 
cially a political opinion, is a point where most of us 
stop thinking. However, Maxine had scored a magnificent 

[ 182 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


triumph, and after the meeting broke up, it was the con¬ 
sensus of opinion, that her oratorical effort had completely 
eclipsed both the speeches of Senator Wainwright and 
W orthington-Hargreaves. 

The next morning, she received a note from Senator 
Wainwright, in which he said: “I want to give myself the 
pleasure of telling you that your address was one of the most 
enthusiastic, interesting and instructive speeches which I 
have ever heard; and I hope that you will be able to serve 
in many future campaigns, in behalf of our Party.” 

The election returns brought in a handsome majority for 
Worthington-Hargreaves, who ran way ahead of his ticket. 
That his success was largely due to Richard Radcliffe’s 
ability as an organizer, was every-where recognized. It was 
also a well-established fact that Mrs. Hargreaves’ democracy, 
and popularity in the community, were no small factors in 
helping her husband to win. Hargreaves, himself, had 
played his part to unusually good advantage, during the 
campaign, because he had followed the advice of Radcliffe, 
Mrs. Hargreaves and Maxine Marling, — just so far as his 
personality would permit him to do. 

By nature Hargreaves had no great warmth; in fact, 
he was rather colorless. At the same time, he was good- 
natured, agreeable to meet, and he had, in his early years, 
acquired a rather broad conception of public policy,— 
through his association with his well-read and capable father, 
— followed by his later intimate acquaintance with Richard 
Radcliffe, who had always kept abreast of the times in the 
study of governmental problems. 

Hargreaves’ greatest asset, in the political world, was 
his ability to listen. He was a better listener than talker. 
Radcliffe predicted, from the very first, that Hargreaves 
would make a success of his public career, because he was 

[ 183 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


prone to accept suggestions from authoritative and reliable 
sources. Hargreaves was neither obstinate nor stubborn. He 
was quite inclined to stake his political future upon the 
contributed life of those who were willing to give a vital 
part of themselves, in order that he might succeed. He was 
perfectly willing to express, in his official position, the ideas 
and principles for which his best advisers stood. He figured 
that if he were to do this, that he could not go far wrong. 
He even believed that others might help him to such an 
extent that he would not miss the mark of greatness in his 
political achievements. He did not over-estimate himself or 
his capabilities; but he was not lacking in the self-confidence 
which would enable him to proceed in a definite, resolute 
manner, when he once had the backing, interest and deliber¬ 
ate, well-seasoned advice of his political promoters. 

He intended to rely upon Richard Radcliffe as his main 
bulwark of guidance, in determining his conduct in public 
life, and in deciding his attitude on the vital questions to 
which he must address himself. 

“I must leave for the East, — for an extended trip, to 
New York and Washington, tomorrow morning. If there 
should be a special session of Congress called, directly after 
the fourth of March, Hargreaves would have to take his seat 
then, — instead of a year from the coming December. 

1 ‘ There is such a tremendous tension, in connection with 
the vital issues to be met at this time, that one who is enter¬ 
ing upon a term of political service, for the first time, needs 
to have the advantage of all the best information which he 
can possibly get. 

“Besides, there are many pressing business matters 
which require my immediate attention. After these are 
settled, I am going to devote about two months, or perhaps 

[ 184 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


more, to securing information for Hargreaves, which will 
enable him to get his hearings correctly, before he must 
assume the responsibilities of his new office. I am looking 
forward to a very strenuous and interesting experience. 
My introductions, through the clubs of which I am a member, 
and the prestige afforded me by my banking and professional 
connections, will make it possible for me to gain access to 
many of the most important people. 

“I am very glad, indeed, that I have always kept up my 
attendance at the Foreign Trade Conventions, and the meet¬ 
ings of the American Bar Association, because it puts me in a 
position where I have the acquaintance and confidence of 
many men, who would not give me a listening ear if they did 
not already know me,” Richard told Eleanor, a few days 
after Hargreaves’ election to Congress. 

“Well, why didn’t you tell me something about your 
plans before this, so that I could have been ready to join 
you?” remarked Eleanor, rather peevishly. 

“Because I didn’t decide until today that I was to go,” 
answered Richard, while he hoped in his heart, that Eleanor 
would not make up her mind, at the last moment, to accom¬ 
pany him. 

“Anyway, you wouldn’t enjoy being with me on this 
trip, because I shall be in such a rush and so full of impera¬ 
tive engagements, that I would not have any time which I 
could spend with you,” continued Richard. 

“I couldn’t get ready now, anyway, — but I may make 
up my mind in a few days to come on to New York. If you 
are going to be so busy, I can go on to Washington and 
visit there until you are ready to come home,” Eleanor 
assured him, while he reserved to himself his hopes that she 
would not follow him East. 


[ 185 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Richard packed his travelling bag that night, and was 
off on the first transcontinental train the following morning. 
He had purposely let Eleanor know, at the last moment, of 
his contemplated journey, because he understood her so well 
that he knew she would never undertake a long trip, without 
a week or two of advance preparations. 

Whatever may have been Richard Radcliffe’s secret 
deliberations and anticipations, — he was never more anxious 
to reach his destination than he had been during this trip 
across the continent. He evinced much more nervousness 
than was characteristic of his well-disciplined character. 
He only stopped in Chicago between trains, — where 
formerly he had been accustomed to remain for a day or 
two. He did not even wait for the train which he would 
have taken under ordinary conditions, — but instead, he 
bought a ticket on the Twentieth Century Limited, because 
it would bring him into New York a few hours ahead of the 
other limited trains. 

When he arrived at the Grand Central Station, he in¬ 
structed the porter, who carried his grip, to take him through 
the tunnel into the lobby of the Hotel Belmont, where he 
always took up his residence, whenever he was in New York. 
He had advised the clerk, in advance, to reserve one of the 
best rooms in the house, — and he soon found himself com¬ 
fortably ensconced in luxurious quarters, overlooking New 
York Harbor and the Hudson River in the distance. 

He took no time, however, to survey the scenic view, 
by which he was surrounded. No, indeed. He was thinking 
of something else, — something which, evidently, admitted of 
no delay. He hastened to the telephone and in clear, audible 
tones, said to the operator: 

“Riverside 9076.” 


[ 186 ] 


Richard and Maxine 

“Number, please?” 

“I said Riverside 9076.” 

After a delay of about half a minute, during which time 
Richard Radcliffe’s composure was becoming exceedingly 
perturbed, he exclaimed: “This service is abominable. 
What’s the matter, Central?” 

“What number did you ask for?” she said, in a calm, 
sweet voice, as soft and enticing in its tones as a zephyrus, 
morning breeze. 

“I’ve given you the number twice. I want Riverside 
9076. Right away, too.” 

At last the resistant, obstreperous instrument was con¬ 
quered. 

“Hello,” responded a well-modulated, cultured voice. 

“Hel-lo! Well, how are you?” Richard inquired. 

“Just splendid, — but I’m rather surprised. I didn’t 
quite expect that you would be in New York so soon. Why, 
I’ve only been back a few days, myself. How is everybody 
in Mount Olympic?” 

“Just fine! I had to come East on very urgent business, 
and on very short notice. I thought, perhaps, you would 
do me the honor to have dinner with me tonight.” 

“Yes, indeed. I’ll be very glad to. Fortunately, I just 
cancelled an engagement, a few minutes ago, to go to Long 
Island today. It occurred to me that it might be a little too 
strenuous. I’ve been rather resting on my oars, so to speak, 
since the campaign. I haven’t been doing very much, except 
what has been absolutely necessary, since I returned home.” 

“When you cancelled that engagement, it was because 
the voice of some good Fairy told you that I was coming to 
town. Well, meet me at Delmonico’s at seven o’clock to¬ 
night.” 


[ 187 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


“All right. I’ll be there,” answered Maxine, and then 
she hung up. 

They met at the appointed hour. It was in one of the 
good old days, when Delmonico’s was at its best, — just a 
few months before we entered the war. A waiter who had 
served Richard Radcliffe before, during some of his previous 
visits to New York, came forward and bowed, smilingly. 

“Will you join me in a Clover Club Cocktail?” Richard 
inquired of Maxine. 

“Yes, I believe I will.” 

Just as this skilfully concocted beverage was being 
served by the immaculate, white-gloved waiter, Richard said: 

“I had to come to New York to attend to some pressing 
matters, both for Hargreaves and myself, — especially for 
myself. 

“Ever since I met you, I have always wanted to have a 
talk with you, when we could be just by ourselves, — and 
now that I have that pleasure, I can hardly realize that I am 
not dreaming.” 

“I have become so accustomed to mingling with many 
people that I sometimes believe that I am at my best with a 
crowd of people, — at a dinner or social gathering of some 
sort, — so I hope that I won’t disappoint you at a little, 
informal meeting of this kind.” 

“I’m sure that you couldn’t disappoint me, under any 
circumstances. Never in my life have I met any other woman 
who combined, to so great a degree, the ideal with the prac¬ 
tical;— the literary with the domestic; — and the forceful 
with the sympathetic, — as you do. Whenever I speak to 
you, or look at you, I actually wonder if you can be real.” 

Maxine was handsomely gowned in a royal blue, chiffon 
velvet gown, with an underbodice of silver cloth. She wore 

[ 188 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


a blue velvet turban hat, adorned by graceful folds of 
silver cloth from the base to the edge of the crown. There 
was an artistic contrast between the tones of her gown 
and her naturally, pink cheeks, the color of which be¬ 
came noticeably intensified, — while she drew a long breath, 
— after Richard’s last remark, before she replied: “I’m 
simply overcome at such an outburst of praise, — when 
I know, so well, that I do not deserve it. I’m afraid that 
you have formed all these exaggerated impressions of 
my worth and merits on a very short acquaintance. Then, 
too, you are such a suave, easy talker, that I know you 
enjoy paying pretty compliments to all the women whom 
you admire. I always figure that it is safe to discount 
the approbation of the most sincere man in the world. I 
usually deduct a very liberal percentage for such lavish 
expressions of approval, — and yet, you are the last man in 
the world whose sincerity I would ever, for an instant, ques¬ 
tion. I always indulge my men friends in the liberties of 
‘poetic license,’ whenever they shower their praise upon me,” 
she concluded, laughingly. 

“No, I want you to understand that I mean every word 
which I have said, and more, too. In fact, my command of 
the English language does not enable me to express myself 
adequately.” 

“Now, you really are going beyond the bounds of the 
veracity, which I am sure is a fundamental part of your 
character, — and besides, you haven’t a sufficient foundation 
on which to build such an idealistic opinion of me.” 

“Yes, — the real secret of whatever degree of success 
I have achieved in the world, has been due, in large measure, 

I believe, to my ability to read human nature understand¬ 
ing^ and accurately. This is the one attribute of my whole 
make-up, in which I take great pride. I have seldom made a 

[ 189 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


mistake, — and whatever mistakes I have made, were due to 
the fallacious judgment of youth and immaturity. ’ 9 

“You know, it is quite true that a man may have re¬ 
markably good judgment about everything else in the uni¬ 
verse except women; and it is equally true, that women may 
have a superior sense of discrimination and discernment on 
almost any subject, — except men. This seems to have been 
thus arranged by an All-Wise Providence, in order to assure 
the continuous propagation of the race. I think you will 
agree with me, that it is quite obvious that many mistakes 
are made in such matters . 99 

“Yes, — and these mistakes are responsible for nearly 
all of the misery and unhappiness in the world. In fact, we 
can trace, directly, to the evil of the misunderstanding, — 
and broad psychological chasm between the sexes, — the four 
great parasites of civilization,—famine,—pestilence,—pov¬ 
erty,—and war.” 

‘ ‘ Just how do you mean ? Especially in regard to war ? ’ 9 

“I mean that the individual is only a representation of 
the universe in miniature. When an individual is at war 
with himself, that spirit of revolution reflects upon everyone, 
who comes within the radius of that person’s influence. Such 
discontent spreads, until it becomes universal. Then, peoples 
of conflicting interests and purposes begin to quarrel with 
each other, until some great civil or economic, international 
conflagration bursts forth. The great, international parasite 
of war is traceable, in large measure, to the enforced mater¬ 
nity of women, who are obliged to bring children into the 
world, whose fathers fall far short of representing the highest 
ideals of the mothers, — men, who do not measure up to the 
proper standards,—on the physical, emotional or tempera¬ 
mental sides of life, — to say nothing of the intellectual or 

[ 190 ] 


Richard and Maxine 

spiritual standards, which should characterize those fitted to 
perpetuate a line of descendants.” 

“I think you are right, — but your theories sound much 
more like those of a woman, than they do like the philosophy 
of a man. I’m ready to believe now, that you understand 
women, better than I thought you did, — so, I’ll take back 
part of what I said.” 

“Well, I’m going to prove to you that I understand 
you,” he replied, with emphasis. 

“I don’t know about that. Life is so complex, that it is 
very difficult for one to understand another. You remember 
that I told you that I am very peculiar, — and I don’t know 
whether any one ever has, or ever will, understand me,” 
she added. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think you are so hard to 
understand, — and I think that your understanding of others 
is almost uncanny. Someway, I have felt, from the first, that 
you understood me very well, indeed. I hope that I’m not 
mistaken; and I hope, too, that I’m not getting too personal 
or too bold,” he said, rather apologetically. 

“No, you are a very good friend. I have always had 
excellent men friends. One can not get a proper, or well- 
proportioned outlook on life, without the association of men, 
— and men, who are capable of understanding, exactly, what 
a woman stands for in her ideals, never try to take the least 
advantage of a woman’s confidence. I have always found 
my men friends very dependable, — not too exacting, and, 
taking everything into consideration, — my relationships 
with men have been very satisfactory.” 

“I am sure that such relationships could not be other¬ 
wise, under your restraining influence, — but, if you did not 
radiate a certain influence of restraint, which seasons and 


[ 191 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


balances your spontaneous, sympathetic nature, — then, it 
would be an ill-fate for both yourself and the men who are 
so devoted, in their friendship for you. 

“This reminds me,” he continued, “of a poem, which I 
read when I was only a high school boy. Its sentiment seized 
very deeply on my boyish imagination, — for I was not prone 
to spend much time, committing things to memory, unless 
my teachers required such mental exertion. Any-way, I 
believe I can remember it. It ran something like this: 

“ ‘Ah, wasteful woman! — she who may 
On her sweet self set her own price, 

Knowing he can not choose but pay — 

How has she cheapened Paradise! 

How given for naught her priceless gift, 

How spoiled the bread and spilled the wine, 

Which spent with due respective thrift, 

# Had made brutes men, and men Divine!* ** 

“That is a very fine sentiment, — so full of truth and 
meaning. I have often been criticized for saying that I be¬ 
lieve men to be even greater idealists than women; — but 
the fact, that as a school boy, you took the trouble, volun¬ 
tarily, to commit to memory a verse like that, confirms me, 
once more, in my conclusion that men actually are more 
idealistic, at heart, than are women.’* 

“Whether that is true or not, it is a fine compliment for 
the men. It not only speaks well for them, but it expresses 
volumes for yourself. It indicates plainly that you have 
only appealed to the best and highest and noblest attributes 
of men’s characters. I regard you with increasing admira¬ 
tion and confidence, — if it is possible for me to have any 

[ 192 ] 


Bichard and Maxine 

greater confidence in you than I had the very first time that I 
met you.” 

“Now, I wish that you would tell me a good story. You 
always have so many of them on hand. What is your latest 
acquisition ? ’ ’ 

“I don’t really know. Oh, yes! A funny thing hap¬ 
pened just before I left home. I had been trying to sell a 
piece of timber land for some time. One evening, I sat in 
the lobby of the Cascadia Hotel, — there, in Mount Olympic, 
— talking to a man, who had led me to believe that he was 
very much interested in this piece of property. Finally, he 
said: ‘No,’ and then he went on to explain that he was not 
even in a position to buy an option on the timber tract. 
Just as he left me, another man, who was sitting near by, 
turned to me, and said: ‘I am very much interested in timber, 
myself. I live in a state where there is no timber. I belong 
in the State of Kansas. I just heard you describe your timber 
land. If it is as you say it is, I will pay you a thousand 
dollars for a three days ’ option on it. If, at the end of that 
time, I am dissatisfied, or, if I am not able to raise the 
remainder of the money, I will forfeit the thousand dollars 
deposit. ’ 

“The next day, I took this Kansas man out to see the 
property. He seemed satisfied. We went back to the Olym¬ 
pic National Bank, and he paid me one thousand dollars. I 
then secured an abstract from the Court House, and I gave 
the bank instructions that when my buyer paid them fifty- 
nine thousand dollars more, — that he should be given a 
Warranty Deed of the property. At the end of the three 
days, he telephoned me that he wanted to meet me at the 
bank. I went down, at the appointed hour. He deposited the 
fifty-nine thousand dollars to my credit, as he had agreed to 

[193] 


A Warning to Wives 


do. Then he surprised me, by depositing sixty-one thousand 
dollars to his own credit. He explained, to my greater sur¬ 
prise, that he had just sold this piece of timber for one 
hundred twenty thousand dollars. In my astonishment, I 
said to him: 

“ ‘I have always heard a great deal about the people of 
Kansas; — and I have always felt rather sorry for them, — 
because they have to suffer so much from extreme heat, crop 
failure, and grasshoppers. Up to this time, the Kansans have 
always enlisted my sympathy,—but I shall waste no more 
pity upon them. After this experience, I am no longer sorry 
for the people of Kansas, — but I shall always, hereafter, be 
sorry for the grasshoppers. ’ ’ ’ 

Maxine laughed appreciatively, and then she remarked: 

“He made money as fast as my broker sometimes makes 
it for me. He has made some very good turns for me since 
election. He tells me that it is inevitable that the United 
States must enter the World War. I don’t like to think of 
making money through wholesale murder, slaughter and 
blood-shed on a world-wide scale;—but he tells me that when 
once the United States enters the war, that there will be all 
kinds of opportunities for large profits on all the materials 
necessary for conducting war. I leave my investments en¬ 
tirely to his judgment. 

“Of course, I would prefer to lose every cent that I have, 

— rather than to have our country go into the war. At the 
same time, if it is necessary for the United States to become 
a party to this great international struggle for Democracy, 

— in order to preserve and perpetuate the principles of free¬ 
dom and liberty, — then, I am willing to have our country 
go just as far as any other nation.” 

“Yes,” responded Richard, “I think that every far- 

[ 194 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


thinking citizen feels that way. There is another very im¬ 
portant angle to the situation, — and that is, that we must 
assure America’s future economic position, — looking for¬ 
ward to a place of supremacy for the United States in world 
trade. 

“If we make no alliances during this war, we shall have 
no strong friendship from other nations, after it is over. We 
shall have to cast our affiliation with the Allies, — in the 
causes for which they stand, — or else, suffer from the asper¬ 
sions and calumnious stigmas, which they will hurl against 
us, if we leave them to continue their fight alone. 

“Regardless of the temporary confusion and human 
sacrifices, which must attend every war, — followed by mani¬ 
fold injustices to multitudes, — in the end, humanity will 
gain ground. Such losses and sacrifices and injustices are 
always essential, before any permanent benefit or progress 
can take root in the world. 

“Most men by nature are not altruistic, — but this 
lack of vision among men, is compensated for by the Power 
of Higher Intelligence, which rules over our destinies, •— 
great and small. This Guiding Intelligence enables masses 
of men to satisfy their greed and avarice, — which provide 
them with a motivation, — sufficiently strong to dominate 
their energies. The highest powers of men are thus dedi¬ 
cated to combative pursuits. The motive of large material 
gains governs them,—and they thus, unintentionally, bring 
about a general house-cleaning and renovation of the world. 

“I always look upon war as I do upon a great storm,—a 
terrific blizzard. It destroys much, — but it also purifies 
much. The men who promote wars are not, as a rule, great 
altruists, — but the Great Ruler of our Destinies makes up 
for their short-comings, — in the final analysis, — because 

[ 195 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


they are used as instruments, through which the race gains 
incalculable progress. ’ ’ 

‘‘Yes, I think you are right: — you remember that once 
before, when we were discussing another subject,—we agreed 
that, according to the laws of Nature’s economy, — not a 
thing in the universe can ever be wasted, — and so, after 
all, — there can be no waste, even in war, — because in 
reality, there can be no Evil which remains evil, — since all 
Evil, in the end, brings forth Good,” concluded Maxine. 

“Well, it is twenty minutes after eight, — and since we 
have, in our conversation left unsolved very few of the 
world’s most vital questions, — let us reserve, for another 
time, whatever serious problems remain to be solved. 

“I bought tickets this afternoon for ‘Chu Chin Chow.’ 
The curtain rises at eight-thirty, so we shall have to make 
haste, to be there on time. I wasn’t able to get the tickets 
until about six o’clock, so I didn’t call you,— because I 
took it for granted that you would probably like to go.” 

“Yes, indeed. I have wanted, for a long time, to see 
that performance, ’ ’ she said, while she wrapped herself in her 
luxurious mole-skin coat. 

That evening, after the theatre, when Richard took 
Maxine home, — she said to him, as they entered the lobby 
of the palatial apartment house, where she lived: 

“I have a woman living with me who is a general 
factotum for all my wants. She serves as house-keeper, 
lady’s maid, caretaker, — cook, secretary and chaperone. I 
have known her ever since I was a little girl. She lived in 
our family for more than ten years, before my parents died. 
In her early days, she used to be a country school teacher,— 
in a little, old, red school house, just outside of Cortland, 
New York. She has always been perfectly devoted to me,— 

[ 196 ] 


Bichard and Maxine 


and I don’t know what I should do without her. She looks 
after me, — even now, — as carefully as my own mother 
could do. She is a marvelous cook. Some night, very soon, 
I want you to come to have dinner with us.” 

“I shall look forward to accepting your invitation,— 
more than I can possibly look forward to anything else 
that can happen to me,” he replied, as Maxine extended 
her hand to bid him a cordial goodnight,—while she thanked 
him, with enthusiastic appreciation, for one of the best even¬ 
ing entertainments which could be arranged for any dis¬ 
criminating New Yorker. 

The next day but one, after this occurrence, Maxine 
telephoned Richard that she would be glad to have him come 
to dine with her that evening. 

She lived on Riverside Drive, — in one of those palaces 
of architectural magnificence, — in which the apartments are 
arranged in individual suites of six rooms. 

The living-room of Maxine’s suite was in Venetian 
style,— with the ceiling toned in subdued shades of golden 
brown, and the walls decorated in brocaded dark brown 
velvet, with a background of gold, which harmonized with 
the flower-painted doors, which led to the dining-room. 
Seventeenth Century Italian furniture, old velvets, soft 
toned brocades, — a few rare steel engravings, etchings, — a 
hand-painted picture of ocean waves and the seashore, — two 
bronze statuettes,—one of Queen Elizabeth, the other of Joan 
of Arc,—which adorned the Parian marble mantel, above the 
fire-place, — three lamps, — with silver-beaded, ecru georg¬ 
ette, and glass shades, — the latter one painted in water- 
nymphs,— a mahogany library table, with writing-desk 
to match, and a uniquely patterned, Oriental rug con¬ 
stituted the furnishings. There was an atmosphere of hos- 

[ 197 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

pitality and restfulness about the room, which was very 
enticing. 

“When we go into the dining-room, I will introduce you 
to Mary Ann. I always introduce her to all of my friends, 
and she takes a deep, personal interest in each one of them. 
Her name is Mary Ann Milton. When I told her that you 
were coming, she said she would have one of the best turkeys 
on the market. Her dinners are absolute miracles. At least, 
that is what every one says, — so I hope that you brought 
along a good appetite/ ’ With these words, Maxine greeted 
Richard, just before he had the honor to be ushered into the 
presence of Mary Ann Milton, who proved to be a middle- 
aged, blonde woman, with rosy cheeks, — untouched by 
rouge, and a figure which was entirely too plump for her 
height. She received Radcliffe like an old-time friend, re¬ 
marking: “Maxine has been telling me, today, about some of 
your interesting theories of life. Now, I hope that the dinner 
will be good enough so that you can sit here and dine and 
philosophize to your heart’s content.” 

“I am willing to give Mary Ann credit for being a 
connoisseur in the art of cookery. I call this dinner a tri¬ 
umphant expression of trained and discriminating judgment 
of that which is both rare and choice. She certainly knows 
corn-fed turkey, when she sees it, and she is a past master in 
making gravy and dressing. 

“You must miss all these comforts of home when you are 
away on long trips,” commented Richard, soon after they 
were seated at the table. 

“Well, you see, sometimes I take her with me, and when 
I make up my mind to stay in any place for a considerable 
length of time, — I rent an apartment, and we keep house,— 

[198] 


Richard and Maxine 


which makes a much more satisfactory arrangement, than 
living in hotels all of the time.” 

“I have known all along that you were very domestic. 
It seems like an ironical fate that a woman of your disposi¬ 
tion should be, more or less, of a nomad, — when so many 
women, who have little inclination to make their homes 
symposiums of comfort and conviviality, — marry and keep 
house, after a fashion, — but whose ideals of domesticity are 
so stereotyped and conventional, — that there is never much 
real freedom or enjoyment inside the walls of the places, 
which they call homes.” 

“Well, I would prefer to be a nomad, with the power to 
extract from life much of its variety and every-day pleasures, 
than to be a settler, —willing to accept mediocrity in home- 
life, — romance, and the average pursuits of most women. I 
don’t like mediocrity in any thing. Most people accept it, 
as a matter of ordinary course, because they haven’t the 
energy to rise above it. They haven’t the vim to live at a 
high rate of vibration, and so, they accept the commonplace, 
because they are too lazy, or too indolent, to perform the 
exertion necessary to bring anything better into their lives. 
For myself, I can not tolerate such acquiescence to trite con¬ 
ditions. Many women, who happen to be fortunately situ¬ 
ated, through circumstances of birth, marriage, and so on, 
seem to have no greater inspiration in life than the deter¬ 
mination to survive. To my mind, they are simply reverting 
to the most plebian and aboriginal sources, — from which 
we must have all sprung, —and we never would have sprung 
very far, — if most of our ancestors had possessed no more of 
the spirit of conquerors and the disposition to excel, than do 
many of our modern women, who are quite content to spend 

[ 199 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


most of their time shopping, attending pink teas, playing 
poker and bridge, and spending their husbands’ money.” 

“I agree with you. Most people never achieve an ideal 
state, because they are not sufficiently energetic to make the 
necessary effort. Their manifest destiny must be worked out 
by a Greater Intelligence than they, themselves, possess,” 
replied Richard. 

‘‘And most of them are so immovable and impenetrable 
that the Greater Intelligence has to be mighty persistent, in 
order to be able to reach them. They move away from their 
moorings, as slowly as a glacier breaks away from a region 
of perpetual snow, before it descends the mountain slope.” 

“Yes, I remember that Emerson said that a man is just 
as lazy as he dares to be; and, according to your theory, this 
applies to women, as well as men, — but, of course, Emerson 
included woman in man. I have always been of the opinion, 
however, that woman has always taken the initiative in pav¬ 
ing the way for the world’s betterment and progress,” he 
added. 

“That is a beautiful tribute, — an expression of man’s 
ideal of woman. I do not know whether it is wholly de¬ 
served. It is a traditional quality of chivalry handed down 
to us by the knights of old, whose characters were founded 
upon honor, the protection of women, generosity to foes, and 
gallantry. 

“I know that women are more conservative than men, — 
for two reasons. The first is that they possess a highly de¬ 
veloped, instinctive intuition for self-protection, and for the 
protection of their young. The second is that they have, as a 
class, lived in such narrow and restricted environments, 
that they have more fear of radical changes, than have men. 
Personally, I believe, that estimated by the law of averages 

[ 200 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


men have just as fine, — if not finer, principles of honor and 
constituents of character, as women have,” concluded 
Maxine, thoughtfully. 

“Well, on the whole, — don’t you believe that it is a 
good idea for men to believe that women are better than 
they are, and now, you have almost convinced me that the 
antithesis of this is true, — that it is a good idea for women 
to believe infinitely in the merits and virtues and higher 
qualities of men,— what about that?” 

“Yes, I think it would improve matters very much, if 
both sexes were to cherish a better opinion of each other. 
It would help to produce future generations of better, 
stronger calibre, who would have a higher regard for both 
men and women. I suppose that the best and noblest ideal 
for us to entertain would be this, — that we should think as 
nobly as possible of our own sex, as well as of the opposite 
sex. In other words, we should not think any the less of our 
own sex, — merely because we think the best of the other 
sex. I am sure that that is the truest ideal for us all, — but 
the super-attraction which exists between men and women, 
— which is responsible for the perpetuation of the race, — 
keeps tempting us to like better, and to think more favorably 
of those of the opposite sex to ourselves, — and so, most 
men, if they admit the truth, say that they like women better 
than they do men, — just as most women declare, when they 
are honest, that they like men better than they do women. 

“This all seems to have been included in the great 
psychological plan for the continuation of the world. It is 
a part of the Great Scheme of Things, — which makes the 
world go around, — with the minimum of friction,—although 
a perfected civilization will mean the reduction of this mini- 

[ 201 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


mum of friction to an infinitesimal degree, until it shall 
eventually disappear. 

‘‘I remember a few evenings ago, when we were at 
Delmonieo’s, that you said that the four greatest parasites 
of civilization could he traced to the misunderstanding which 
has always existed, and still exists, between men and women. 
I know that you mentioned famine, pestilence, poverty and 
war. You amplified your remarks on war,— but the con¬ 
versation drifted into other channels, and you did not ex¬ 
plain why it is that you believe that the first three parasitic 
evils are also attributable to practically the same cause. I 
shall be interested to know more of your ideas on this sub¬ 
ject/ ’ said Maxine. 

“The nucleus of the whole matter rests upon the state¬ 
ment which I made, in regard to individuals, constantly at 
war with themselves, — who would not have this continual 
strife within themselves, — if they were the products of a 
parentage, the parties to which were truly united by the tie 
of unalloyed love. Such unions would result in greater peace 
of mind and contentment of spirit. The desires to achieve 
and to excel in peaceable, constructive pursuits would con¬ 
stitute sufficient incentives for labor, — for work which 
should always build up and never tear down. 

“It is a fact that there is an abundance of food produced 
from the earth every year, — and yet, there are always those 
who are starving, — either due to poverty or famine. Some¬ 
times, this starvation is caused by profiteers, who, volun¬ 
tarily, permit food to spoil, rather than to lower the prices; 
and sometimes, it is due to a lack of energy on the part of 
idle and indolent peoples, who have indulged themselves so 
long in their ennui that they have lost the capacity for the 
necessarily sustained and intelligent exertion, which would 

[ 202 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


enable them to survive, if not to live, comfortably. And, of 
course, sometimes there is absolute crop failure, which should 
be anticipated by all well-managed governments in time to 
secure practical relief. 

“That covers briefly the famine situation. Now as to 
pestilence, — diseases always find their inception in an un¬ 
clean, sordid environment. Impressions travel from the mind 
to the body, with electrical rapidity. The effect is imme¬ 
diate, if not directly apparent. The electric wires of the 
nervous system become impaired, and completely disarrange 
the inter-communication of their junctions and terminals. 
The body loses its vitality unless the life-giving substance 
of electricity is renewed and restored. If the mind becomes 
infested by indifference and apathy, — the electrical forces, 
which control the brain, yield to depletion, — and the mind 
loses its power, — until the afflicted individual, unconsciously, 
gives up the mastery of himself to the invading, pernicious 
influences of despair. Then he loses out and surrenders him¬ 
self to the fate of starvation of the mind, until he becomes a 
victim of a famine, — so destructive in its consequences, — 
that it is called death. When an individual yields to this 
conquering foe, his situation is parallel to that of the un¬ 
fortunate victims of physical starvation, — the only differ¬ 
ence being that the latter have not retained the energy essen¬ 
tial for healthy, physical exertion, while the former has lost 
his innate, God-given, mental power, which, if exercized to 
the proper degree, would enable him to survive. 

“If children were the products of well-balanced unions, 
— they would be so constituted that there would always be 
an incentive in their lives, so that they would not yield them¬ 
selves early to apathetic, devitalizing invaders of the mind. 
In this way, disease, and all forms of pestilence, would 

[ 203 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


gradually be eliminated, because there would be no soil in 
which they could take root. Like the fishes, in the streams 
of deep caves, whose eyes, after awhile, disappear because 
of disuse, — so this evil parasite, we call disease, would 
exterminate itself. 

“Poverty, — another of the four most evil parasites,— 
is largely a matter of limitation which individuals impose 
upon themselves. As a young man, when I started out for 
myself, if you will permit me, for a moment, to be personal, 
I made up my mind that I was not going to be poor. My 
father was an attorney, in a little town in Indiana. He was 
a Brigadier-General in the Civil War, and after it, he served 
seven terms, the very best part of his life, in Congress. He 
had a large family, so he was never able to accumulate very 
much. There were five of us boys and two girls, and we 
boys had to hustle for ourselves very early. I took care of 
several furnaces in town, in order to earn the money with 
which to pay my tuition at the University of Indiana. Dur¬ 
ing the summer, I worked on a farm, which my father owned, 
— just outside of Bloomington. I arose at four o’clock in 
the morning, — milked the cows, — drew the milk to a cheese 
factory,—after which I began a regular day’s work in the 
fields, — in haying and harvesting time. I wanted to make 
money, — become well-to-do. I was determined some way to 
get the world by the tail. I have, from the world’s point of 
view,— been very successful. I can not understand any young 
man of vim and determination, — not being able to make 
good in these days, — and yet, I can look back upon many 
of my neighbors and class-mates, whose opportunities were 
certainly equal to my own, who have never attained even a 
fair degree of success. 

I never permitted myself to harbor any thoughts of 
[204] 


Richard and Maxine 


failure. Whenever I have any extreme cases of poverty brought 
to my attention, I always find, upon careful examination, that 
those who are very poor have dwelt in the thought of pov¬ 
erty, until they have grown to accept it as an inevitable 
condition. But, again, I trace their apathy of despair to a 
certain innate dissatisfaction with themselves, in their early 
childhood days, — just as soon as they began to think; — and 
I believe that much of this feeling of weariness and tedious¬ 
ness emanated from parents, who were dissatisfied with them¬ 
selves, and whose union in marriage was loveless. 

“So far as my references to myself are concerned, I 
have not held out energetically, to my own satisfaction, to 
the very summit of my aspirations. I, too, in a measure, 
have given way. That was why I said to you, one time, soon 
after I met you: ‘Do you think that you can hold out to the 
end of the game, with your same fresh outlook in the art 
of living?’ I was very much interested in your answer. It 
was so refreshing and optimistic. When I say that many times 
in my life I have relaxed my energetic activities, instead of 
going on to what I believe would have proven to be the 
zenith of my powers,— I want to tell you that it is because, 
in recent years, I have often felt the lack of the proper in¬ 
centive to great achievement. But there are compensating 
effects upon my character, I suppose. In fact, this is the one 
thing which makes me sympathetic, when I see another 
fellow who has fallen down. Then, I am reminded by my¬ 
self that, I, too, have not done the best that I could have 
done with my life and its opportunities. This is the ‘skele¬ 
ton’ in my closet. Now, I’ve talked about myself and my 
theories of life, for a long time. I hope that I have not 
bored you. Now, do let me hear something about yourself,” 
concluded Richard, just as he finished one of the smoothest, 

[ 205 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


— most delicious desserts, of which he had ever partaken, — 
a semi-frozen concoction, — designated by Mary Ann as 
“maple mousse.” 

“Suppose we adjourn to the living-room, and continue 
our session in front of the fire,” suggested Maxine. 

“All right, — but before we go, I want to give myself 
the pleasure of telling you that that was one of the best 
dinners of which I have ever partaken.” 

“I am very glad that you enjoyed it, because I want 
you to come again. Whenever any of my guests dine with 
apparent relish and satisfaction, Mary Ann always insists 
that I shall invite them again. ’’ 

“Well, I’ll assure you that I won’t require any urging, 
not only on account of the feast, but because, superior to 
that, will be my recollection of your charms as a sympathetic 
and patient listener,” replied Richard. 

“It hasn’t required any patience, whatever, to listen 
to your brilliant discourse upon subjects which have always 
engaged my keenest interest,” answered Maxine. 

“Now, you take the floor, and reveal to me, in your 
inimitable style, some of your views on these alluring ques¬ 
tions.” 

“I don’t know exactly where to begin,” she responded. 

“Well, first of all, tell me why it is that you have not 
married, ’ ’ he said, insistently. 

“In order to do that, I shall have to be personal, too,— 
if you don’t mind.” 

“Mind,—I should say not. I’m anxious to, really, know 
something about such a lump of mystery, — as you are to 
me. You are so fascinating, — so unique, so original, and so 
very charming, with all of your individuality. Go on!” 
Richard continued. 


[ 206 ] 


Richard and Maxme 


“In the first place, I suppose, to be perfectly frank, that 
I had too much of the spirit of an adventuress to settle down 
with my first suitor, back in Cortland. His name was Philip 
Todd. He was a Cornell graduate, — a young lawyer, who 
began his career in the office of my father. ‘Phil’ was the 
son of a well-to-do farmer, — whom I always heard called 
Hank Todd. Up to the time that Phil went to college, his 
father had always spelled the family name Tod. After 
Phil’s Freshman year, he came home and chided his father 
for spelling the name with one d, whereupon Mr. Todd told 
him, that being just a plain man, without any fancy notions, 
he preferred to be humble like God, and so, he used only 
one d. 

“Phil was graduated at the head of his class in Cornell. 
While my father lived, Phil did very well as an assistant in 
his office. At that time, I was completing my course of study 
in the Miss Maxwells’ School. My father died soon after the 
close of my senior year. Phil continued in my father’s office, 
while I remained at home with my mother. I thought it best 
to postpone our marriage until mother should have time to 
bring herself back from the state of exhaustion which fol¬ 
lowed my father’s death. As I told you, she never rebounded 
from this grief. All the time, I was getting better acquainted 
with Philip. I found that his love of pleasure exceeded his 
aspiration to make a place for himself in professional life. 
He became rather dissipated; and when this became known 
to me, I reasoned that I was no smarter, and no more re¬ 
sourceful, than many other girls of my acquaintance, who 
had married men with the hope of reforming them;—and 
then failed. So I listened to the Voice within, which told 
me, unmistakably, that there was something, or someone in 
the world better for me than Philip Todd. It hurt me very 

[ 207 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


V 


much to make this decision. I was almost weighed down 
with the disappointment of breaking my engagement, when 
my mother succumbed. As soon as she passed on, I decided 
upon a University course, — and as I told you once before, 
I went to Cornell. 

“ While there I received the devoted attention of a bril¬ 
liant young man, by the name of Bayard Covington, who was 
preparing himself for a journalistic career. I became en¬ 
gaged to him; was actually in love with him, and we schemed 
together to work out a plan so that, some day, Bayard might 
own his own newspaper and establish an independent school 
of journalism, to suit his own ideals; — through which he 
should espouse the cause of the common man, without 
teaching him to be either socialistic or revolutionary in his 
mental processes, or actual conduct. 

“To make a long story short, Bayard went to the Adiron- 
dacks on a hunting trip, just before we were to have been 
married, in September following our graduation. He had 
just started, during the summer months, as a Washington 
political correspondent, — during a special session of Con¬ 
gress. He went with some other newspaper men from New 
York to the Adirondacks, just after he had spent the week¬ 
end visiting me in Loyola Winfield’s home. 

“One morning Bayard and his companions were in the 
open, and they sighted a deer. Bayard went around the 
other side of some heavy brush and started to beat his way 
back through the thicket. He was wearing a heavy, canvas 
coat and cap with a long peak on it. There was no color 
on his clothes to distinguish him. He went forward to 
break down the brush, and then stopped, just as a deer does 
when he sights a person; and then he started to break 
through the brush again. A very heavy rain was falling and 

[ 208 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


it was rather dark. When the other hunter sighted him, 
Covington stooped over, and as he did so, he looked exactly 
like a deer. Blanchard, — Covington’s companion, — fired 
and killed Covington.” 

“How terrible! You had to face considerable grief 
and tragedy very early in your life. It is wonderful that 
you have been through so much, and that you have continued 
to keep up your animation, good-nature and optimism,” re¬ 
marked Richard, sympathetically. 

“Yes, I was quite broken-hearted, after Bayard Coving¬ 
ton ’s death, — coming as it did, just a few years after the 
death of my parents. It was only my natural resiliency of 
spirits, which finally enabled me to rebound. After awhile, 
I resumed my keen, normal interest in life.” 

“Yes, and you have added much zest and piquancy to 
the everyday activities of existence, and kept up your en¬ 
thusiasm by your numerous interests.” 

“I have always believed that if we are bigger than our 
sorrows and losses and disappointments and temptations, — 
that enlarged opportunities, for both service and happiness, 
are sure to come to us,” remarked Maxine, in her usual 
animated manner. 

“You carry your optimism a little farther than I do. 
It seems to me, sometimes, that some of the biggest, strongest 
men and women in the world end their days without finding 
their greatest opportunities, ’ ’ commented Richard. 

“Not if they prove themselves bigger than circum¬ 
stances. I am just as confident, within myself, that I am 
going to find the biggest opportunity, which the world holds 
for me, — as I am that the sun will rise tomorrow morning,” 
she said, determinedly. 

“I wish that I could adopt your philosophy. If I could, 
[ 209 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


I would go to work at once, to find the biggest opportunity, 
which exists for me,” he said, thoughtfully. 

“Well, there isn’t any reason in the world why you 
shouldn’t fill any place on earth to which you aspire. You 
have the mental calibre, the imagination, — the vision, and 
above all, the personality which will enable you to accom¬ 
plish whatever you may desire. What place in the world 
would you like most of all to fill, — if you resolved to achieve 
the summit of your ambitions?” 

“I would like to be able to fill, not only acceptably,— 
but with superior efficiency, some place in public life, — 
where I could distinguish myself and prove myself big 
enough to measure up to the highest standards ever achieved, 
in the office to which I was called. To sincerely render public 
service, to me, is the highest ambition which a man can 
have,” concluded Richard. 

“I have always wondered why you did not enter politics. 
When Worthington-Hargreaves was a candidate for Con¬ 
gress, — I used to think, often, that you were so much better 
fitted to meet the responsibilities of a Member of the House 
of Representatives. Of course, sometimes, it is a long road 
to travel before a Congressman can achieve much distinc¬ 
tion. You would be remarkably well-fitted for a Diplomatic 
or Cabinet position, — or some Executive office, where you 
could put into operation your best principles and ideals in 
the interest of public policy,” she suggested. 

“You speak with such fidelity to my highest aspirations, 
—that your words are almost startling. And I don’t believe 
that you are flattering me, either,” he continued, his voice 
rising. 

“No, indeed. I have always had confidence in your 
ability, ever since I met you. I think that you are very 

[ 210 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


capable of attaining some high place. Yon managed Har¬ 
greaves’ campaign so splendidly. He and I talked about 
it a great many times. Loyola was so appreciative of every 
thing which you did. In her estimation, you are just indis¬ 
pensable to Hargreaves’ future career. I doubt very much, 
however, that he will ever go much farther. I have no doubt 
that, with your backing and advice, that he will make good 
in Congress;—but I don’t believe that you will ever be 
able to make such a feature of his record that he will com¬ 
mend himself to the public as worthy of a much bigger 
office.” 

“Perhaps not, — although I am very loyal to him. I 
shall do the very best I can by him, — but it will not do for 
me to continue too prominently as his biggest promoter,— 
because I have recently been elected as Chairman of the 
Board of Directors of the Copper Maountain Development 
Company, and I am already identified as one of the Directors 
in so many corporations and financial institutions, that I am 
regarded by the average voter as a capitalist, — who serves 
the interests of capital. Fortunately, I have been able to 
keep this impression rather subdued, in the minds of the 
public, —because I have always recognized the right of labor 
to unite its factors, — but I have always taken the position 
that a card of membership in a labor union should be a 
diploma representing skill and efficiency, — and that such 
membership cards should only be issued to those of the work¬ 
men who stand for a scale of wages in proportion to their 
skill and merit. To other laborers, I would only have issued 
cards of apprenticeship, — until such time as they proved 
themselves capable, and worthy of the privileges and in¬ 
creased wages of skilled workmen. So far, labor organiza¬ 
tions have never actually antagonized me. In fact, they have 

[ 211 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


been, with the exception of a few cases, rather friendly to me. 

“I suppose that I would have gone in for a public career 
several years ago, if there had been any one to encourage 
me along those lines. That is wdiere I have been weak. 
Since I have been comfortably well off, I have settled into 
the groove of the average, successful man, — just attended 
to my business and law practice, and Hargreaves’ affairs,— 
maintained a position of influence in my own community,— 
and let the rest of the world go. 

“Mrs. Radcliffe has never been interested to have me 
achieve anything more than I have done. I don’t mean to 
speak at all disparagingly of her. In many ways, she is an 
excellent woman. She has always read a great deal of fic¬ 
tion;—but she has never seemed to translate, into her own 
life, the lessons which she might have learned from fiction. 
She has always looked upon the duties and offices of men 
and women, as something entirely to be distinguished and 
separated from each other. Apparently, she has never been 
ambitious for me to fill any bigger place than I am filling 
today. If she has ever entertained any ambitious thoughts for 
me, — she has never let me know anything about it. What¬ 
ever I have accomplished, — I have achieved alone, — with¬ 
out the stimulus which I believe should come from one’s life 
partner. However, I am not criticizing, as I believe that 
we should take our partners in marriage as we find them and 
not as we would have them. 

“I am speaking rather freely to you, — more freely, 
perhaps, than I should, — but I remember that I, inadver¬ 
tently, gave myself away the first time I met you, when I 
asked you how it was that you had been able to keep your 
emotional balance, while the rest of us, nearly always, made 

[ 212 ] 


Richard and Maxine 

some vital mistake in forming alliances, which wrecked our 
affections on a sea of despair/ ’ concluded Richard. 

“Yes, I remember. I thought, at the time, that I had 
caught the secret of your life; — but I did not know you well 
enough to encourage further discussion of such a delicate 
subject. And don’t think, for one moment, that I have been 
so immune from emotional attacks. On one occasion, I, all 
but decided, to marry a wealthy widower from Montclair, 
New Jersey, no doubt you have heard of him, — Redfield 
Bowman. He has offices in Wall Street, and a very fine 
reputation among financiers. In many ways, he is rather lik¬ 
able ; — but he has such an unrelenting, uncompromising, 
dominating disposition, that sometimes, he just makes me 
shudder. He offered me every inducement in the world, if I 
would marry him. The life which he could have given me 
was very tempting, in some ways. He had a palatial home, 
limousines, touring cars, a yacht, and a large fortune. To one 
of my social disposition and benevolent inclinations, this 
opportunity was not easy to reject. Possibly, if I had not 
been protected by economic independence, I would have 
married him; but in my heart, I felt no all-absorbing, con¬ 
suming fire, — no divine spark of affection for Mr. Bowman. 
In fact, there was not even the great essential of a happy 
marriage, — perfect congeniality between us, and so, I re¬ 
fused him, as graciously as possible, — without wounding his 
vanity,— a mighty difficult thing for a woman to do. I be¬ 
lieve that I made him see the situation, — that it meant no 
disparagement of his splendid qualities, — that it was simply 
a case of a lack of the proper emotional and temperamental 
combination between us. 

“I have always reasoned that the majority of unhappy 
marriages occur because the parties thereto become tempo- 

[ 213 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


rarily infatuated, and imagine, for physical, or other reasons, 
but mostly physical, that the attraction existing between 
them will be climaxed by unceasing, romantic, emotional 
expression, which will lead them to the very heights of 
marital bliss. They marry; find the electrical spark of Divine 
fire missing; and discover, in most cases, that there is a lack 
of capability to cherish, perpetually, a sustained affection,— 
on the part of one or both. 

“I believe that marriage, most of all institutions requires 
for continual and permanent satisfaction, — personalities of 
inexhaustible merit, interest and resources, — as well as 
much physical, mental and spiritual charm. 

“For those of high ideals, it is a rather hazardous under¬ 
taking. It requires, I believe, more character and ability to 
be successful in such an alliance, — than it does to make good 
in any vocation, or business, or profession in the world. 
Many of the most interesting, magnetic personalities make a 
failure of it. It is so natural to be continually making an 
analysis and inventory of the other fellow, — that one often 
forgets to appraise one’s self at true value. 

“But just think,” she went on, “if we would only 
permit ourselves, for a moment, to become intimate with our¬ 
selves ; — then we might reasonably inquire as to the dura¬ 
tion of time which we believe we could be entertained by 
ourselves, if we had only our internal, personal resources on 
which to rely. Then it would be in order to ask ourselves the 
question, — How long could we reasonably expect another 
individual to depend upon us for entertainment, mental 
recreation, or incentive to achievement?” 

“You have such high ideals of marriage and its responsi¬ 
bilities that I don’t wonder you have not had the courage to 
attempt it. I quite agree with you, however, that many 

[ 214 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


married people become tired of each other because they have 
so few resources within themselves with which to entertain 
each other. This is especially true of women, who spend their 
time in narrow spheres, and whose contact with life, and 
many of its experiences, is so limited, only to the things of 
every-day occurrence, — those things which touch the lives 
of women, immediately, — that their mental horizon becomes 
rather contracted, — within the small radius of their own 
restricted circle. 

‘ ‘ That is why that it is the woman of the world, — the 
actress, — the woman of large experience, who wins the desir¬ 
able man most easily. Her success lies in her personality, plus 
her experience. The man of large means will often marry an 
actress, or an experienced woman of the world, — instead of 
a woman of his own social set, — because these women are 
the most attractive and interesting women on earth. No one 
can say just why, but the man who sits next to an actress, 
or a woman of the world, at a dinner or supper, is invariably 
charmed/’ said Richard. 

“Isn’t it because the actress knows human nature? She 
understands people. She must do that, or she could not hold 
the public,” answered Maxine. 

She reserved to herself the thoughts, which, if she had 
expressed them, would have rounded out the truth of that 
which she and Richard had just said. 

Maxine knew that the woman of broad associations, — 
the actress, knows that which most wives never seem to 
learn, — that men are only great babies. To confirm this, 
she knew that one had only to read the evidence in some of 
the actress-millionaire romances and divorce episodes, where 
it is continually a matter of record that, in most cases, a 
vivacious, theatrical performer has won the affections of 

[ 215 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


another woman’s husband, by addressing some bald-headed, 
paunchy, old man, as “Darling Boy,” or “Sweetie Tood- 
leums.” 

“ It’s getting late and I must not keep you up any longer. 
I have had the best visit with you that I have had with any 
one in many years, and you are very generous to honor me 
by bestowing the hospitality of your Heavenly little home 
upon me. 

“Some evening soon, I would like to have you meet me 
for dinner down town, and then we will go, afterwards, to the 
opera,” suggested Richard. 

“All right. I haven’t been to the opera yet this year, — 
and I always enjoy it.” 

After Richard left Maxine’s apartment that evening, she 
reflected upon many things, which they had both said. 

Maxine had admitted to herself, frankly, when she had 
first met Richard Radcliffe, that he was different from all the 
other men whom she had ever known. He had a certain dash, 
— a spontaneity, and a thoughtful, conscientious attitude 
toward life, which she had found lacking in many men. Then, 
too, Radcliffe was able, — a man among men, who had 
achieved success and distinction in success. Still, he under¬ 
stood the great art of small talk, — had a streak of humor in 
his make-up, and a keen appreciation of the little things 
which mean so much to women. 

While Richard was on his way home, he dwelt upon 
thoughts of Maxine’s geniality and sympathetic under¬ 
standing, — an understanding of life, — which she seemed to 
be able to apply to every one whom she met, — and, she had 
seemed, from the first, to comprehend his exact situation 
better than anyone else whom he had ever known. Even 
Helen Hammond, with all of her personal interest in him, 

[ 216 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


and his most vital affairs, — lacked that deep, intuitive in¬ 
sight, — which seemed to be an inordinately developed fac¬ 
ulty,— belonging to Maxine Marling’s personality. 

The next morning, about eleven o’clock, when Mary Ann 
was giving Maxine her weekly shampoo, the latter inquired 
of her: 

“What did you think of Mr. Radcliffe?” 

“I liked him the best of any of your men friends, whom 
I have ever met. He seemed so natural and sincere. How do 
you like him yourself ? ’ ’ inquired Mary Ann, with her usual 
bluntness of speech. 

“He is a very satisfactory friend. He is, however, a 
married man, -— as I believe I told you. ’ ’ 

“Well, do you regret that he is married?” queried Mary 
Ann, persistently, while she massaged Maxine’s scalp, with a 
vigor which indicated, unmistakably, her energetic disposition. 

“I don’t know that I really want to put it that way,—not 
quite so broadly as that,—but he is very interesting. He has a 
big-hearted capacity for comradeship. He does not tire me. 
I have become rather fed up on the society of men, who believe 
that women can live entirely on their flattery, — and their 
boastful tales of the great things which they have accom¬ 
plished. I know one man who never talks about anything 
else, except his big, white yacht, — his house up at Lennox, — 
and his seven-car garage. There is another one, who talks, 
continually, about the corking deals which he puts over in 
munition stocks, steels and coppers. He seems to think that 
all I can possibly be interested in,-—is his ability to make 
money. It is so seldom that I meet a man, who has, within 
his heart, the sincere desire to render all possible service to the 
world, — who wants, — with his full conscience and ability, 
to do his part, to make this world a better place in which to 

[ 217 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


live. Mr. Radcliffe is that kind of a man. To my mind, — 
the only excuse for living is to make one’s self useful, in some 
kind of constructive work. 

‘ ‘ The only thing which bothers me in continuing my social 
relations with Mr. Radcliffe is, that if the world knew, they 
would consider it a big, conventional indiscretion. Although 
I am rather unconventional at heart,:—at the same time, I 
have always, — to a great degree, obeyed conventions, — al¬ 
though they have imposed many restrictions upon me, under 
which I have chafed considerably. 

“However, for the present, Mr. Radcliffe is quite alone 
in New York. I thoroughly enjoy his conversation, — and I 
believe, absolutely, in his sincerity; — so I have made up my 
mind that I will spend some of my time with him, — because 
he is really stimulating to me,— mentally. We seem to be 
mutually congenial. Our inter-change of ideas, on many 
interesting subjects, is certainly conducive to self-improve¬ 
ment,— so I see no reason why we should not entertain each 
other.” 

“I’m sure your judgment will not lead you astray. Your 
father and mother both had such good judgment that you 
could not miss the mark of being a good judge yourself. So 
far, — in all the years, during which I have been with you, 
since your mother’s death, I have always been thankful because 
you have always lived, — just as I imagine they would have 
had you live. 

“I don’t believe in either spooks or spirits, but some¬ 
times, when I have feared that you might make a mistake 
and marry some selfish, sensual type of man,— like Redfield 
Bowman, — for instance, — something uncanny has always 
seemed to speak to me and to say: ( I will give my angels 
charge over thee to watch and keep thee, — and in their hands 
they shall bear thee up, — lest at any time thou dash thy foot 

[ 218 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


against a stone,’ I know, in my heart, that no evil shall ever 
overtake you, — so I ’m not going to give you any advice; — 
I’m just going to trust that everything will always be all 
right and work out for the very best for you. 

* ‘ To me, you are just as much my own girl as though you 
belonged to me. I have always felt that you were sent into my 
life to help to console me for the loss of my own daughter, 
Lucile. You know that she was only nine years old when she 
died, and you were just that age when I went to live with your 
folks. Some way, I have always had a feeling that your 
father and mother would help Lucile just as much on the other 
side of life, — in that Unknown Mysterious Land, — as I 
might be able to help you here, — by looking after you and 
taking care of you, as though you were my own,” said Mary 
Ann, while she applied, vigorously, a special kind of hair 
tonic, which she, herself, had prepared, for the sole purpose 
of keeping Maxine’s hair in a healthy, glossy condition. 

“Yes. I have never expressed it just that way, but I 
have always had a feeling that you would not be taken away 
from me, — because I need you so very much, ’ ’ said Maxine, 
while she patted Mary Ann’s hand, affectionately. 

During the next six weeks, Maxine and Richard spent 
much time in each other’s company. While they often intro¬ 
duced into their conversation wit and humor, they frequently 
talked of the world, — only as a pair of the most devoted 
idealists would have it. 

They wished that a greater spirit of tolerance might take 
possession of the minds of men; that the drudgery of the world 
might be reduced to a minimum, by improved inventions in 
labor-saving machinery; that child labor should become rele¬ 
gated to the past; that parents might take a greater interest 
in the education of their children, and do more for them, to 

[ 219 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


help them prepare their lessons at home; that malignant 
diseases might be annihilated; that a conquest of poverty 
might be made; that famine might be no more; that every 
human being could be gentle in breeding and healthy in body; 
that love might abide in every human heart, thereby assuring 
the perpetuation of the race, according to the law and spirit of 
love, — which would mean, ultimately, the end of all wars, 
both civil and international. 

When Richard had been away from home a little less than 
two months, he received a telegram from Eleanor, announcing 
that she was leaving for Washington, D. C., and that she would 
expect him there to meet her on her arrival. 

The day after he received this telegram, there came an¬ 
other, which read as follows: 

ARGUS IS VERY ILL. HE HAS HAD SEVERAL SEVERE ATTACKS OF 
INDIGESTION DURING THE PAST MONTH. MRS. RADCLIFFE DID NOT 
THINK IT NECESSARY TO LET YOU KNOW; BUT NOW THAT I AM 
ALONE I THINK IT RIGHT TO TELL YOU. TODAY HE HAD A SPASM. 
I SENT FOR A VETERINARY WHO TELLS ME ARGUS* CONDITION IS 
CRITICAL. WILL DO THE BEST I CAN FOR HIM. F RE IDA. 

Richard immediately sent telegrams to Freida, Ralph 
Phipps, who had charge of the Radcliffe office, during Rich¬ 
ard’s absence, and also, to Doctor Godfrey and Doctor Brad¬ 
shaw. He instructed the latter to see that the best veterinary 
skill, obtainable should be employed. In the messages sent 
to his office and house, he directed that no expense should be 
spared to provide for Argus’ care and comfort. When Rad¬ 
cliffe received the replies to the rush telegrams which he had 
sent, he was seized with much consternation of mind. He 
reflected on all that Argus had meant to him. This sagacious, 

[ 220 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


canine creature had proven himself the nearest to a Soul-Mate 
of any companion which Richard had ever had. Argus had 
always understood his master. He had sympathized with 
Richard whenever there had been any domestic friction. 
Whenever Radcliffe had come home from the office, depressed 
or fatigued, Argus had always welcomed him, with all the 
warmth and spontaneity of his noble canine nature. This 
welcome was the better appreciated, in the absence of an 
affectionate greeting from Radcliffe’s wife. And now, Argus 
was lying low, while his master was three thousand miles 
away. It was pitiable. If he thought that Argus would 
live until he could reach home, he would start at once, 
instead of waiting for Eleanor’s arrival. He telephoned to 
Maxine. She was not at all lacking in sympathy when he 
informed her of the sad news which he had just received. 

“If you were to see him before he is too far gone, you 
might save his life,” she said. 

“Anyway, I have some important business matters which 
should be attended to back home,” explained Richard, whose 
masculine pride restrained him from acknowledging that it 
was actually his tenderness of heart and affection for Argus, 
which would take him across the continent, — in the event that 
he decided to go. He was only trying to make a plausible 
excuse, so that he would not appear to be losing his emotional 
balance, because of his anxiety concerning his canine friend. 

“Come down to the Belmont and have dinner with me. 
Meanwhile, I will think matters over and decide what I am to 
do,” continued Richard. 

When Maxine arrived at the hotel, Richard had already 
purchased his ticket for home, and had his traveling-bag all 
packed. He related to Maxine something of the discomfort 
which Argus had always experienced whenever his master 

[ 221 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


was away from home. He told her of Eleanor’s attitude 
toward the dog, and of the numerous occurrences when Eleanor 
had threatened to dispose of Argus. 

“If he gets well and you want to bring him hack East 
with you for the remainder of your stay here, I will he glad 
to take care of him, — even though I have to smuggle him 
into my apartment. We could take care of him with the help 
of the janitor,” suggested Maxine. 

“I may do that very thing,” responded Richard, “al¬ 
though it would seem like an imposition on your good nature. 
I’ll think it over. I know that it would he pretty soft for 
Argus if he had you to look after him. Then I would find 
myself in a position where I should be envying my own much¬ 
loved dog,” commented Richard, with a warm sparkle in his 
large, expressive eyes. 

‘‘Well, you bring him hack with you. I would just love to 
have him. I remember that he strolled through the room 
where we were playing cards when we were all at your house 
to dinner. I recall, too, that Mrs. Radcliffe put him out just 
as he started to put his head against my knee. I stroked him, 
once or twice, and then she, protestingly, led him away,” 
said Maxine reminiscently. 

“I hope that I shall get back before anything exciting 
occurs in Washington. Matters are becoming very critical. 
I should not be surprised to see war declared by this country 
within the next few months. Yon Bernstorff should have been 
sent home long ago. The President has made an attempt, in 
his recent note, of December 18th, to sound public opinion. 
You know that the German Government has recently proposed 
a Peace Conference, — with the idea, of course, that Germany 
shall receive suitable reparations, guaranties, and above all, 
the freedom of the seas. They have anticipated the President’s 
peace overtures. He declares that the parties to the war are 

[ 222 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


fighting for the same principles, — at least, on their own state¬ 
ments, and suggests that the belligerents are only misguided 
men, who should cease their antagonisms. I do not believe, 
however, that the Allied Governments will accept the idea of 
a Peace Conference at a time when the Kaiser is in a position 
to rattle his saber at the Conference table. Of course the 
Allies can not continue the war without the raw materials, 
munitions, manufactures, and food supplies from America. 
That is why our Government must always be consulted when¬ 
ever any big question, concerning the Allies, is to be decided. 

“I think that there will be a special session of Congress; 
— so I will go on home and return as soon as I can. Har¬ 
greaves is in Washington now, studying conditions, — al¬ 
though he will not take his seat in Congress until after the 
present session expires/ ’ 

Richard sent a night letter to Eleanor at the Fairchild 
home in Washington. He knew that this message would be 
delivered to her upon her arrival. That she would be highly 
indignant, he did not doubt. Neither did he care. After all, 
Richard knew his wife to be in excellent health. She did not 
need him nearly so much now as did Argus. Radcliffe was 
determined to show something of the same degree of devotion 
and affection toward Argus, — as the latter had always shown 
toward him. Before he went aboard the train he made ar¬ 
rangements to have several telegrams delivered to him en 
route from New York to the Pacific Coast. These would keep 
him advised, frequently, concerning Argus’ condition. 

The first two messages which Richard received after he 
left New York, -— were rather discouraging. Then there came 
one at Chicago, after he had changed trains, — which sounded 
a little more cheerful. By the time that he arrived in Mon¬ 
tana, the news of Argus began to grow worse. There was little 

[ 223 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


hope left in Radcliffe’s heart that he would be able to reach 
Mount Olympic in time to greet, once more, his loving dog- 
friend in life. Without Argus, home would not be home at all; 
— and he would hurry back to New York as soon as he pos¬ 
sibly could. If Argus could only be spared, he would, at least, 
have the joy of spending the holidays with him at home. 
What a balm to the soul this would be! It would be the first 
time in Radcliife’s married life when he could do just as he 
pleased in his own home at Christmas time. The thought 
almost made Radcliffe, for the moment, delirious with joy. 
Richard found himself indulging in such fanciful and extrava¬ 
gant reveries of the raptures which he and Argus would expe¬ 
rience,— in the event that his Dog-Pal should survive,— 
when, alas! there came into his mind, with flashing frequency, 
the messages of ill purport which had recently been delivered 
to him. No encouraging news reached him after he left 
Spokane. He was beginning to lose heart. He mused to him¬ 
self: “Yes, no doubt, Argus has gone to the Happy Hunting 
Ground for all of his kind. Neither Phipps nor Freida wanted 
to wire me the sad news.” And yet, there was a faint ray of 
hope! Possibly, there had been so little change in Argus’ con¬ 
dition that they had not thought it worth while to telegraph 
again before Richard’s arrival home. 

Richard walked back and forth, nervously, through the 
Pullman section for more than an hour before the train pulled 
into Mount Olympic. It seemed to him almost like an age 
of the remote, geological past, since he had left New York. 
He was the first passenger to take his place at the head of the 
Pullman car Snoqualmie, in which he had ridden from 
Chicago. 

As the train pulled in, he caught a glimpse of Ralph 
Phipps, who was down to the depot to meet him. 

[ 224 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


“Well, how is he?” were the first words which fell in 
subdued tones upon Phipps’ ears, while Radcliffe grasped his 
hand warmly. 

“Well, he’s a little easier now. Some way, during the 
last two or three hours, he has seemed to be a little better. I 
almost believe that he has understood that we were talking 
about your coming home. About an hour ago, when I men¬ 
tioned your name, he wagged his tail for the first time in 
several days. From that moment, he has seemed to improve. 
I really believe that he will pick up from the moment of your 
arrival. Doctor Crider seems to think so, too. He is the vet¬ 
erinary, — and he has been mighty faithful, too. He stayed 
all night last night, and he has been at the house most of the 
time today.” 

Phipps drove Radcliffe’s big, purring limousine through 
the streets of Mount Olympic as fast as he dared. 11 The cops 
would never touch us, anyway, if they knew that we were 
hurrying to get home to Argus, — because they all know him. 
He’s a great favorite in this town. He has always been seen 
with you so much that he is well-known to nearly everyone 
in town.” 

No Oriental Potentate, no Emperor of large and exten¬ 
sive dominions, no Leader of a great Political Party in a 
Republic ever received an expression of devotion from their 
most subservient subjects, or humble followers, which was 
comparable in emotional intensity with that accorded to 
Richard Radcliffe by Argus, when his master entered the 
alcove just off the library of the Radcliffe home. 

The moment before Richard had entered the house, Argus 
lay prostrated in the window-seat. He was moaning with 
pain,—with his eyes half closed and his mouth shut tightly, 
while he ground, back and forth, his molar teeth resolutely, 

[ 225 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


— as much as to say: 11 1 will not succumb to this thing, — 
this mortal enemy which has attacked me. I will fight with all 
the determination which has been the great foundation of the 
characters of my long line of gray-wolf ancestors. My father, 
Audifax Seigestor, never gave up. He died of old age, after 
he had reached the stage where he was in a state of coma most 
of the time. He just fell asleep and passed naturally away. 
He did not surrender himself to this evil thing called pain, — 
and I, his son, will not surrender either. I will fight to the 
finish. ’ ’ 

Just as Argus was summoning to his assistance the virile 
influence of his resolute and determined ancestors, — his great, 
mighty heart leaped with joy, when he heard his master’s 
foot-steps and voice, as Richard Radcliffe approached. 
Stricken with pain, so excruciating in its tendency, that he had 
hardly been able to stand on his feet for several days, — now, 
when his master arrived, such inexpressible joy had crept 
into Argus ’ being that he did not restrain himself. He leaped 
to his feet; licked both of Richard’s hands, with the true spirit 
of his old-time adoration for his master, — looked up into 
Radcliffe’s eyes, with a deep expression of tenderness, and an 
understanding of his master’s soul, — which amounted almost 
to infinitude, — and then, after Richard stroked affectionately 
his face and head, — he sat back on his haunches for an in¬ 
stant,— continuing to gaze with soulful reverence into Rad¬ 
cliffe’s eyes, — after which, he relaxed himself once more on 
the big silver fox rug on which Freida had placed some soft, 
satin cushions. 

Alas! what distress of mind would the mistress of Number 
Twenty-Three Arbor Court have experienced had she known of 
the transformation which had taken place in her home, during 
her absence. Argus was no longer an exile on the back porch, 

[ 226 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


where he had lain for many days prior to Mrs. Radcliffe’s 
departure for Washington, D. C. In fact, Eleanor had always 
made it a practice to keep Argus out of the house when Richard 
was not at home. During the first days of the poor dog’s 
illness his bed had been only a gunny sack, and he had been 
sadly neglected. No sooner had his mistress left than Freida, 
upon her own initiative, took it upon herself to transfer 
Argus to the most livable part of the house, — because she well 
knew that this would be Mr. Radcliffe’s wish, and besides, she 
was, naturally, kind-hearted herself, and was happy when she 
had the opportunity to indulge herself in the luxury of being 
generous, — whenever Mrs. Radcliffe was not around. Then, 
too, Freida had, for so many years, been a permanent member 
of the Radcliffe household, that she understood the dispositions 
and characters of both her master and mistress. Whenever 
she could make it possible to play any favoritism, Mr. Radcliffe 
was always the beneficiary. However, Freida was not without 
some quality of diplomatic capacity. She knew how to please 
Mrs. Radcliffe, — by her economy in cooking, and by her 
spick-and-span methods of keeping everything neat, polished, 
and in perfect order. She stood in the good graces of Mr. 
Radcliffe, because she would, sometimes, save an extra 
portion of some special dish of which he was particularly 
fond. Without his knowledge, she had even gone so far 
as to deprive herself, occasionally, of a part of some 
delectable viand, that her master might enjoy it; when 
Mrs. Radcliffe had scrimped her, by ordering an in¬ 
sufficient quantity. Richard understood so well Eleanor’s 
system of ordering meats and groceries, that he credited 
Freida with very skilful management in the kitchen. He 
always recognized this in a substantial way at holiday time, 
— and now, the holidays were here. He presented Freida with 
a check to be deposited in her savings account, and although, 

[ 227 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


such remembrances of previous years were entirely outside of 
Eleanor’s small gifts to her servant, — and incidentally, were 
made unbeknown to Mrs. Radcliffe, they had always been of 
goodly proportions and had insured Freida, in addition to her 
own thrifty savings, an adequate nest-egg for her later years. 

Now, at the beginning of 1917, Richard doubled the 
amount which he had presented to Freida, the year before, 
assuring her, with gratitude, as he did so, that the increased 
sum of money was in recognition of the interest which she 
had taken in Argus, and the care which she had given him. 

“Well, you know, Mr. Radcliffe, that I was not thinking 
of any reward when I looked out for Argus as I did. I would 
have done the same thing any-where, and under any circum¬ 
stances, where a poor, dumb creature was suffering, and it 
was within my power to give him any care or attention/’ 
Freida explained, in her whole-hearted manner. 

“Yes, I know that. You have proven yourself, for so 
many years now, that you don’t have to give me any new 
evidence of either your willingness or worthiness,” Richard 
assured her. 

Altogether, the holiday season, from the end of 1916 to 
the beginning of 1917, was the happiest time which Richard 
Radcliffe had ever had in his Arbor Court home. 

As for Argus, he grew steadily better, from day to day, 
until his distemper, and fever, and indigestion, entirely left 
him. There was no disturbing element in the Radcliffe home. 
Richard and Argus were such true Pals, and had such a 
perfect understanding in all their relationships, that there was 
no friction. If a keen student of animal psychology could 
have read Argus’ mind, the reveries of this sagacious creature 
would have run something like this: 

* ‘ The way this house is run now, — it constitutes a real, 

[ 228 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


Dog-Heaven. I suppose that it is too good to last. Something 
tells me that she will come back. I’m so glad that she didn’t 
get here for Christmas or New Year’s. My, such a dinner! I 
ate nearly a whole turkey myself, — on both of those days. 
And such quantities of nuts! And I dearly love them! 
English walnuts! Pecan meats! And peanuts! They did 
not make me sick, because he gave me plenty of exercise. 

‘ ‘ I live in constant fear that she will be hack, and that he 
will go away again. If I have to live here with her, while 
he is gone again, I am afraid my sickness may come over me 
again. She gave me nothing hut old dog biscuit. My! they 
were so dry. They had been in the house for such a long time 
that there was no nourishment in them. She just starved me, 
and Freida didn’t dare feed me. When he is at home, he 
always brings me something extra, so that it doesn’t matter 
whether she feeds me little, or not at all. I wonder where he 
goes. I can’t understand why he leaves me. I have always 
been so faithful to him. I wish that he would take me with 
him. I can’t see why he doesn’t. When he is here, he seems 
to love me as much as I do him. But, on the other hand, I 
fear that I love him better than he does me, because I couldn’t 
go away and leave him. I’ll just stick around him closer and 
tighter than ever and try to make him understand that I am 
begging for him to stay at home with me. 

“1 don’t think that he likes any other dog so much as 
he does me, or that he has any other dog any-where in the 
world. I remember, one day, when I went to his office with 
him, that another dog, who belonged to another man, came 
into the office with his master to make a call. Richard patted 
him on the head, after he had shaken hands with the dog’s 
master, — but as soon as my master noticed that I was a little 
bit perturbed, he put me at ease by caressing, fondly, my fore- 

[ 229 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


head, and by telling me that I was the best dog in the world. 

“Here he comes now. Won’t we have a fine time here by 
the grate? He is bringing a fresh log for the fire. Myl 
what luxury, to be here in the house with him! But I’m just 
afraid every time I hear foot-steps in the distance, that she is 
coming home. She has no use for dogs. She can’t read my 
thoughts. If she could, she would know that I would protect 
her just because she seems to belong, in a way, to him. When 
the house next door was burglarized, the burglars didn’t bother 
this place any. That is the only time that I ever remember 
when she was very kind to me. The next morning, she patted 
me on the head and gave me two little strips of bacon, and 
told me that I was a good alarm when there were any prowlers 
around. She forgot it the next day though. She doesn’t seem 
to remember that I protect her all the time. 

“Now I will lie very close to his feet, and enjoy myself. 
Perhaps he won’t leave me again, and he might take a notion 
to have me go with him, if he has to be gone for a long time 
once more.” 

While Argus ruminated thus, his master, also, reflected 
upon the events of recent weeks. The telegram which he had 
sent to Eleanor, shortly before he left New York, had con¬ 
veyed to her the information that urgent business matters had 
called him home very suddenly. She had not, exactly, ques¬ 
tioned this, but she had expressed, in her messages to him, her 
displeasure that he did not hurry back East. She had not 
even made inquiry as to Argus’ condition. It had never 
occurred to her that Richard had gone home on Argus’ ac¬ 
count. In fact, Eleanor had concluded that Argus was, prob¬ 
ably, only slightly ill, and that he must have recovered soon 
after she left. Richard’s communications to her had been most 
indefinite, as to the length of time, which he would spend at 

[ 230 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


home. He only assured her that he would return to New York, 
and would visit Washington, as soon as certain hazy matters 
cleared up. She chided him, continually, in her letters, for his 
apparent indifference to her own pleasure. She reminded 
him, frequently, that his “beautifully indefinite plans’’ kept 
her suspended in mid-air. 

Just as Richard and Argus had settled down for a peace¬ 
able, comfortable time, the door-bell rang. Freida answered 
it. It was only the post-man again, who delivered another 
letter from Eleanor, the longest paragraph of which was de¬ 
voted to an exposition, concerning her anxiety over the affairs 
at Number Twenty-Three Arbor Court. It has just occurred 
to her that Richard might indulge Argus in too many liberties 
about the house. She urged him to be careful to look out for 
every-thing in the house, and to caution Freida in regard to 
keeping the household expenditures down to the minimum. 

Richard read the letter, in a rather careless, indifferent 
manner, and then tossed it into the fire. He continued to 
muse and to take his ease. He wondered what Maxine was 
doing at this particular time. So far as she was concerned, he 
was anxious to get back East, — but, he would, necessarily, 
have to spend considerable time in Washington on matters 
for Hargreaves, and while there, he would, of course, be ex¬ 
pected to be a guest in the Fairchild home. 

Some way, he found it difficult to strike a mental attitude, 
which would enable him to contemplate, without aversion, the 
prospect of meeting his wife again. He looked forward to it 
very much as he had always contemplated the mental hazard 
on the Mount Olympic Golf Course. This was one reason why 
he had remained at home for more than a fortnight after the 
holidays. Had Eleanor not been in Washington, he would 
have, undoubtedly, returned to New York as soon as Argus 

[ 231 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


had recovered. In any event, when he decided to go back, he 
would see Maxine first. To that, he had definitely made up his 
mind. And what about Argus ? Should he leave him at home, 
or would he manage, some way, to take him East with him? 
Maxine had made it plain that she would be glad to take care 
of Argus. It would seem like asking too much of her, — but, 
at the same time, he could not make up his mind to take the 
chance of leaving Argus at home, — not knowing at what time 
Eleanor would decide to come back home. He would never 
risk, again, Argus ’ life in her hands. He would think it all 
over and work out some plan within the next few days, because 
circumstances, in connection with his affairs in the East, were 
becoming so complicated, that he could not remain away much 
longer. 

He wanted to have a farewell party, with some of his 
cronies, before he went back East. He went to the telephone, 
called up Doc Witherill, Pratt Dickinson, and several other 
old-time friends, with whom he had played bridge, ever since 
he had joined the Olympic Club, and he invited them to 
“come around to the house’’ that evening for “a little sociable 
game. ’ ’ Then he instructed Freida to prepare a buffet supper 
of sandwiches, salad and coffee, which should supplement the 
rare and choice vintages, which he had brought home in his 
automobile from the Club. The result was a house-warming 
in the Eadcliffe home, exceeding in mirth and gaiety, all other 
social events which had ever taken place within those, hereto¬ 
fore, conservatively guarded walls. 

No one entered into the unrestrained, frolicsome spirit of 
these festivities with greater glee than Argus. Just before 
the party broke up, Eichard spread some newspapers over the 
dining-room rug, just in front of the buffet and placed thereon 
a whole, cold, fried chicken, which Argus devoured with such 

[ 232 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


gastronomic zest and gusto that it was quite evident that he 
was in a normal condition once more. 

Richard had sent Maxine for Christmas a Venetian vase 
from Duveen’s. It was ornamented by a unique design of 
small, red roses in Mosaic work, edged with gold. He also 
had delivered to her by messenger, on the same day, a huge 
bouquet of American Beauty Roses. To express his Christ¬ 
mas Greetings, he had sent a Night Letter, as he had likewise 
done on New Year’s Eve. Maxine had responded to all these 
attentions in courteous and friendly manner, both in letters 
and telegrams. She had worded her ackowledgments in 
appreciative, but dignified language. Before Richard had 
left New York, Maxine had expressed so much interest in 
Argus’ recovery, that Richard had kept her closely advised 
by telegrams, until Argus was pronounced, by the veterinary, 
to be completely out of danger. Now, just as Richard was 
about to make his plans to return East, he received another 
letter, urging him to bring Argus with him when he came 
back to New York. 

“Both Mary Ann and I are on exceedingly good terms 
with all of the employees, connected with this apartment house. 
The janitors, elevator boys, and other helpers, always go out 
of their way to please us, — so I am very sure that we shall 
be able to take the very best care of Argus. Do not hesitate 
to bring him with you, as I know you will not be contented 
without him; — and undoubtedly, it will be necessary for you 
to be in New York and Washington for a long time.” This 
was the concluding paragraph of Maxine’s last note to Richard, 
before he left Mount Olympic for New York. 

On his way across the continent, Richard went back to the 
baggage car several times every day. Argus seemed to under¬ 
stand why it was that he was being transported, with such 

[ 233 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


speed, on what seemed to be a long, never-ending journey, 
because he exercised great patience, not only at meal time, 
when he waited for his master to bring to him a plate of sub¬ 
stantial food from the dining-car, but also, at night, when 
Richard bade him farewell and left him to muse, and sleep, 
and dream, for many hours,— the whole night through. 
Argus remembered a similar journey, which he had taken 
across the continent, once before. He had a vivid recollection 
of the time, when he had been shipped, all by himself, in a 
strange, lonely, old baggage car, in which he had ridden for 
about five days, until, at the end of what seemed like a life¬ 
time, he had been taken off the train, where he was met at the 
station by the man who was now his highly reverenced and 
much loved master. Something seemed to tell Argus now, 
that he was not to be separated from the man whom he loved 
better than any-thing or any-body else in the world. He 
hoped, with all the hope of his being, that he was not being 
taken to some place where the discipline of his master’s wife 
would be inflicted upon him. 

Argus had won his way into the hearts of the baggage 
masters and trainmen, to such a degree, that he was the 
recipient of many special favors. Even the conductors had 
been back to see him; — and they had not appeared to observe, 
when Richard had taken Argus to visit him back in his draw¬ 
ing-room. 

Within less than a week, Argus found himself luxuriously 
ensconced in an environment so snugly satisfying that his 
most fanciful, dog-imagination had never even pictured it. 
The only thing lacking was that he did not see his master 
nearly so often as he would have liked. 

There was a long week-end, when he did not see him at all. 
This was during Richard’s absence in Washington, where he 

[ 234 ] 


Richard and Maxine 


had been obliged to go, for two reasons; first, because it was 
imperative that he should see Hargreaves, and take stock of all 
that was transpiring in Washington, — that is, of all matters 
of political and diplomatic interest, which were affecting the 
administration of World Policies, at that crucial and momen¬ 
tous time; — and in the second place, because the mere, 
formal conventionalities of life demanded that he must visit 
his wife;:—although it is altogether likely that, had it not 
been for Radcliffe’s alliance with Hargreaves, — that Richard 
would have postponed his visit to Washington indefinitely. 
His meeting with Eleanor was just one of those unavoidable 
events, accompanied by uninteresting and monotonous cir¬ 
cumstances, which are imposed upon us all at times. 


[ 235 ] 


CHAPTER X 


The Vital Question 

R ICHARD hurried back to New York as soon as he could. 

That evening he invited Maxine to dine with him. She 
declined, urging him, as she did so, to dine with her instead, 
— that he might have an opportunity to see Argus, who was, 
evidently, very lonesome for him. 

“What is the most exciting news in Washington?” 
Maxine inquired, directly after they had taken their seats at 
the table. 

“Well, you know today is the first of February. The 
Germans have served notice that they are to begin unrestricted, 
submarine warfare. It is the opinion of all of those who are 
on the ‘inside’ of affairs at Washington, that the United States 
will break off diplomatic relations with Germany, day after 
tomorrow. It is, also, accepted as a foregone conclusion there, 
that it is inevitable that the United States must get into this 
war. 

“In the President’s recent Address to the Senate on 
January 22nd, he publicly advocated a ‘Peace without vic¬ 
tory,’ a peace where there would be no victors or vanquished. 

“Of course, England and France will not accept such a 
peace. The pronounced intentions of the German Government 
to cancel their submarine pledges, at this time, have created 
such a storm of indignation in the United States, that it is 

[ 236 ] 


The Vital Question 

beyond the power of the President to control it. He can no 
longer retain his neutrality uneompromised. 

“In the long run of things, I think it will prove very 
stupid, on the part of the German Government, for them to 
put into practice a policy of unrestricted, submarine warfare. 

“The one thing which worries most thinking men in 
Washington is the condition of affairs in Russia. If the 
Russians should collapse, it will be a hard blow for the Allies/ * 
suggested Richard, in thoughtful, deliberate mood. 

“Let us hope for the best. The world is in such a state 
of confusion and bewilderment, and yet, I have an abiding 
faith that some Great Good will come of it all. ,, 

“Yes, I know that you always say that. I am beginning 
to believe that this terrible European conflict is re-acting upon 
every individual in the world. If we enter the war, the re¬ 
action upon all of us in the United States will be terrific. I 
think that we should go into this war and share, justly, with 
the Allied nations, our responsibilities for the preservation of 
humanitarianism. At the same time, I know that when the 
world is engaged in such universal slaughter and bloodshed, 
that there is bound to be a tremendous effect upon each one 
of us. 

“To speak, personally, I have been at war with myself 
ever since this European war began. 

“Every thing which I do for the mere sake of conven¬ 
tionality, — just because I am expected to do it, — whether 
my heart is in it or not, goes against the finer instincts of my 
soul. I am constantly revolting whenever I find myself in a 
position where I must do something directly in conflict with 
my higher nature. For instance, I have just been in Washing¬ 
ton, where, of course, I paid a visit to Mrs. Radcliffe and the 
other members of her family. With all due respect to them, 

[237] 


A Warning to Wives 


and they are, indeed, very worthy people in most particulars, 
at the same time, to speak frankly, I did not enjoy myself. I 
was under an unnatural restraint all the while I was there. 
I have lived under the influences of great repression, for many 
years, and such factitious methods of living are tending to 
make me rather artificial, — a sort of sham, — so to speak, — 
something which I despise, above all things, ’’ concluded Rich¬ 
ard, emphatically. 

Maxine hardly knew how to answer Richard. For an 
instant, her wits were tested, as they had not been for a long 
time. The accumulated experiences of her whole life did not 
seem to give her the inspiration which she needed. Besides 
her travels, she had read Philosophy, Ethics, Fiction, History, 
Science and Politics. She had followed the Movies and Base¬ 
ball ; played the Stock Market; written for Magazines, and she 
had always studied men. As soon as she could collect herself, 
following Richard’s last remark, she said: 

“You are quite right. No one should live under such a 
strain. What you have just said bothers me. You told me, 
a short time before you went back West, that ever since our 
association began, you had not been able to find any pleasure 
in the society of any other woman. I was inclined to think, at 
the time, that this was due only to the natural exuberance of 
spirits, which always ensues when we contact a new person¬ 
ality, which interests us. 

“Delightful as our friendship has proven to be, I would 
not want to continue to spend so much time with you, if I 
believed that our comradeship would result in making you 
permanently dissatisfied with the companionship of Mrs. Rad- 
cliffe,” said Maxine, frankly. 

“Don’t worry about that. You have not been in any way 
responsible for the state of affairs which exists between me 

[ 238 ] 


The Vital Question 


and my wife. In fact, meeting you has proven to be the great 
oasis in the vast desert of my life. 

“To be perfectly frank, — well, as I have often said, my 
wife is a good woman. I think that she tries, in her way, to 
be an excellent wife. I have no disposition, or inclination, to 
discuss a delicate subject by indelicate references, — but, as 
I said a moment ago, I am going to be perfectly candid in 
saying what I have wanted to say for a long time. Mrs. 
Radcliffe and I have just, gradually, drifted apart. I don’t 
know exactly why, and I don’t believe that she does. We just 
don’t seem to have been intended for each other, in the first 
place. It was one of those mistakes, which I have sometimes 
heard you mention, where parties marry when they know too 
little about each other. 

“I have made up my mind, that in marrying Mrs. Rad¬ 
cliffe, I married a woman of four personalities. 

“First of all, there was the girl whom I knew, when I 
first met her; then, there was the girl whom I knew, after we 
became better acquainted, and later engaged; then, there was 
the woman whom I married and grew to know much better; 
and then, there is the woman, whom I have never known, and 
never will know, ’ ’ remarked Richard, in perplexed mood. 

“That would probably have been true, no matter whom 
you had married. I believe that every one always keeps a 
part of himself, or herself, in reserve. In fact, I am quite 
sure, that if a man ever arrived at the point where he believed 
that he knew all about a woman,— he would immediately 
lose interest. There must always be something left, within a 
woman’s character and soul, which no man has ever explored. 
This unknown element of her being is the feature which sus¬ 
tains man’s desire for conquest and exploration. The discreet 
woman, always, intuitively, holds back something. She does 

[ 239 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


not do this altogether for policy’s sake, but because she is 
restrained by her intuition , 9 ’ commented Maxine. 

“I always marvel at your precocity in such matters; — 
and wonder how it is that you are so discerning and far¬ 
sighted, lacking, as you do, the experience of married life. 

‘‘You certainly have been a keen observer; — and I count 
it nothing short of genius that your final conclusions, based 
upon the results of observation instead of experience, are for 
the most part, correct,” Richard answered, with perplexed 
curiosity. 

“It is a fallacious theory that all true wisdom must come 
from the school of experience. That is altogether a rather 
stupid notion. We accept certain well-defined scientific and 
mathematical axioms, and other self-evident truths, as funda¬ 
mentally correct and infallible. No one would think of dis¬ 
puting the statement that two and two make four. Why 
shouldn’t we, then, accept as final certain philosophical prin¬ 
ciples which are purely the results of cause and effect?” 
she queried. 

“Because in all matters affecting the emotions, which 
have deep concern with the heart and soul, we are prone to 
believe ourselves exceptions to the general rule, and nearly 
all of us possess enough ego to flatter ourselves into the belief, 
that our own individual methods of solving life’s greatest 
problems will prove to be best for us, at least. 

“You must have been born with an intuitive quality, al¬ 
most uncanny, as well as a faculty for the deepest observation 
on the most intricate subjects. I have great respect,—a respect 
which amounts almost to reverence, for what most people 
would call your intuition, — but I call it, your good judgment, 
— because you have not permitted yourself to be drawn into 
the network of trivial conventionalities and piffling pastimes, 

[ 240 ] 


The Vital Question 

which take up the attention of most women, — and yet, you 
win the confidence of your women friends. How do you 
manage to have both men and women repose their most sacred 
secrets within the bosom of your soul ? ’ ’ he inquired studiously. 

“0, I don’t know, unless it is because I always have a 
sincere, heart-felt interest in every one, whom I admit to my 
friendship. For instance, there is my friend Ethel Bygate. 
Ethel used to be a singer. She had a charming voice and a 
very pretty face. She had a style about her, too, which was 
so inimitable that the finest art model on Fifth Avenue could 
not have imitated her. She married a young, life insurance 
agent, who had all the energy of a Ty Cobb, and all the 
capacity of a Hercules, for hard work. Within ten or twelve 
years, he became one of the vice-presidents of one of the 
biggest life insurance companies in the United States. He 
bought a brown stone mansion for Ethel; — but he has been 
so ultra-prosperous, during the last few years, that, with all 
of his outside interests, he has grown tired of Ethel, who has 
never had the ‘pep’ or common sense to keep up with him. 
Ever since she has been able to keep a house full of servants, 
she has spent her time in frivolous pursuits, without a serious 
thought, for herself, or any one else. Her husband spent a 
small fortune on a library for their home, but the resources 
of it have always remained utterly untapped, so far as Ethel is 
concerned. Charles, that is her husband’s name, likes wo¬ 
men who are interesting, in one way or another, and Ethel has 
simply drifted into a rut, where she is anything but interesting. 

“Only recently, I have encouraged her to try to make 
herself more companionable for Charles, — and she is suc¬ 
ceeding, to some degree, by keeping in touch with the live 
subjects which are of interest to him. For several years now, 
he has made a practice of spending most of his time away from 

[241] 


A Warning to Wives 


home, — comes home to dinner about twice a week, and all 
that sort of thing. Ethel has stayed at home alone evenings 
more than half of the time, for the last few years. Charles 
has done his entertaining at the various clubs, of which he is 
a member, — on his yacht, and so on. Nearly always, of late, 
he has left Ethel at home. Not long ago, I advised her to give 
him a little surprise, some evening, when he came home. It 
happened that last summer, Charles sent Ethel and her sister 
to Europe all by themselves, because he wanted to have them 
out of town. Of course, they made some friends, during their 
voyages to and from the other side, and I told Ethel that, if 
I were in her place, I would invite some of my newly-made 
friends to have dinner and spend the evening, some time 
during Charles’ absence. I told her that I would be sure to 
include some of the most interesting, eligible men, as well as 
some attractive, talented women. She acted on this sugges¬ 
tion, and one night last week, Charles came home after 
midnight, only to find the house filled with strangers, — 
who were, evidently, his wife’s friends. He was too good a 
sport not to enter into the spirit of the occasion, when Ethel 
introduced him to her guests. After they had departed, she 
merely said: ‘I’ve grown rather tired of being alone so much, 
so I thought I would invite some of my own friends in, since 
we never seem to see, any more, our old mutual friends, who 
used to be entertained here, and who formerly entertained us. ’ 
“A few days after this occurrence, Ethel told Charles that 
she had invited in some friends to dinner, and that she hoped 
he would be able to arrange his engagements, so as to remain 
at home to dine. He quickly accepted his wife’s invitation. 
I had things all fixed up myself with Ethel, so that she would 
invite Henry DeFleur, an eminent lawyer, to attend the 
dinner. We planned that Mr. DeFleur should sit at Ethel’s 


[ 242 ] 


The Vital Question 


right. It happens that I know him very well, and so, before 
the party, I said to him, rather casually, — ‘Ethel needs a 
little help right now. Just make it a point, will you, to tell 
Charles, after the dinner is over, that you never realized 
before, what a very attractive and interesting woman Mrs. 
Rygate is?’ Mr. DeFleur was very quick to understand just 
what I meant. He did exactly what I requested him to do; — 
and it was only a day or two before Mr. Rygate invited his own 
wife to attend a party on board his yacht, w r here he had ar¬ 
ranged a sumptuous supper and dance, in her honor.” 

“So, you made your scheme work all right. That was 
very good, indeed. Mrs. Rygate must feel quite indebted to 
you,” suggested Richard, while he meditated over the possible 
effect which such a course of action would have had upon 
himself. 

“I received a letter today,” Maxine went on, “from 
Stephen Lauriston, out in San Francisco. He divorced his 
wife, several years ago, after the San Francisco earthquake, 
when his fortunes were ruined. He always claims that he 
didn’t get any support or encouragement from Mrs. Lauriston, 
after this great disaster. He seems to think that she didn’t 
stand by him, as she should have done. He was obliged to 
work every night at his little, old, improvised office, in order 
to retrieve his fallen fortunes. Instead of sympathizing with 
him, and trying to help him, Mrs. Lauriston started to run 
around evenings with a new crowd. They grew apart, of 
course, and finally, the inevitable separation came. Mr. 
Lauriston is a very wealthy man once more, but he could never 
feel the same toward Mrs. Lauriston again. Of course, I don’t 
know her side of the story, but it seems to me, that she made 
a mistake, by neglecting him, when he was called upon to 
meet such a crucial test. ’ ’ 


[ 243 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


‘‘Yes, I know the Lauristons myself; — but I never knew 
before, just exactly what it was that separated them,” replied 
Richard, reminiscently. 

Just then, the telephone rang. When Maxine arose to 
answer it, she said to Richard: “ I ’ll meet you in the drawing¬ 
room right away.” When she was through talking, she found 
him in front of the fire-place, caressing Argus affectionately. 

“It was Olive McPherson calling me. She is one of my 
youngest, married friends. Her husband is one of the assist¬ 
ant cashiers in a down town bank. His salary isn’t large, and 
he finds it rather difficult to give Olive all the money which 
she wants to spend. She has always had rather remarkable 
talent as a bridge player, and for several months now, she 
has made enough money gambling at bridge to enable her to 
buy a good many extra clothes. Within the past few days, her 
luck has turned against her, and she just called me to tell me 
that she wants to sell, at least, a half dozen of her new expen¬ 
sive hats, in order to pay up her bridge debts. She has one 
hat, particularly, which I have always liked, — a silver gray 
toque, ornamented with tortoise shell pins. I told her that I 
would come over in the morning and try to make a bargain 
with her; — but she said that she was going down town and 
would stop here on her way. I’m going to have a heart-to- 
heart talk with her, because I don’t like the idea of her taking 
so many chances, which I fear, some time, may place her in a 
position which will embarrass her husband, — and he’s such 
an honest, whole-souled, likable chap, too. 

“Last summer, he bought a new car, — a Chummy, four- 
passenger machine, and they invited me to drive with them to 
Babylon, Long Island. Billy, that’s Mr. McPherson, was 
just learning to drive, and Olive tormented him all the way 
out there, by telling him when he should blow the horn, when 

[ 244 ] 


The Vital Question 

he should give the other fellow the right of way, and so on. 
He stood it good-naturedly for a while, but, at last, he in¬ 
sisted on either driving himself or letting Olive drive and said 
rather emphatically: ‘We won’t both drive the car. One or 
the other of us will drive it! So either keep still, or leave 
it to me!’ Olive kept still, and I have an idea that if he ever 
finds out the extent of her bridge operations, that he may put 
his foot down again; — but, of course, no one will tell him 
unless she gets so terribly involved in debt that there is noth¬ 
ing else to do.” 

“Your story of the McPhersons reminds me of the time, 
many years ago, when I learned to drive a car myself. Mrs. 
Radcliife would never learn to drive; — always said that she 
didn’t want to know how, — but, at the same time, she wanted 
to teach me how to drive, and I had to take a stand similar 
to that which your friend Mr. McPherson took, — in order to 
give myself any peace of mind, and to insure safety when we 
were motoring. 

“I don’t know of anything which will destroy happiness, 
and make for general havoc in matrimony, so soon, as nag¬ 
ging, — and strange to say, many women, who are otherwise 
genteel, seem to form, unconsciously, the habit of persistently 
fault-finding and scolding. Such a habit is absolutely fatal, 
and I have never known a woman who persisted in this prac¬ 
tice, who did not, eventually, lose out entirely. Her husband 
may not divorce her. He may continue to give her a certain 
kind of attention, but he will never give her either devotion 
or affection. 

“As I told you in our conversation, during the fore part 
of the evening, I have no desire to speak with any degree of 
indelicacy, concerning my domestic affairs, — but at the same 
time, my heart and soul have grown tired and weary of a 

[245] 


A Warning to Wives 


continual, never ceasing, unremitting flow of unsought advice, 
dictatorial demands, constant criticism, and lack of sympa¬ 
thetic understanding, ’ ’ said Richard, in rather vigorous tones. 

“Well, it’s unfortunate, — it’s most unfortunate. I am 
very sorry, indeed. There is so much about Mrs. Radcliffe 
which is refined and artistic, that it is exceedingly lamentable 
to know that she has that kind of a disposition. Undoubtedly, 
though, she has indulged herself in such hyperbolical censure, 
for so many years, that by this time, she can’t help it. 

“You certainly deserve some compensating influence in 
your life, to help to make up, for all that you have been 
deprived of through your domestic harassments. If you 
were a different type of man, I would not speak to you in 
this manner, — but, knowing you as I do, — understanding 
as I do, your extremely conscientious attitude in all of your 
relationships, — I know that you can not be to blame. 

“I think that your greatest compensation, for all that 
you have lost, will come through losing yourself in public 
service. Because with all that you have suffered, you will be 
able to enter with more vigor, nobler purpose, and more con¬ 
secrated energy, into whatever you undertake. Perhaps if 
you had had a happier, more contented home life, you would 
have been more selfish, and would not have had the same deep 
sympathy with the struggling world, which you now feel, and, 
which you are so splendidly able to express. 

“You know, as we have always said, there can be no loss 
in Nature’s Plan,” she concluded, sympathetically. 

“Yes, I know. But, after all, there is nothing which can 
make up to any one for the loss which ensues from a mis-spent, 
married life. That is impossible. And I can’t bring myself 
to believe either, that a happy, married life would foster 
selfishness. On the contrary, I think that it would keep one 

[ 246 ] 


The Vital Question 


continually inspired and encouraged to express the very best 
and highest principles; the noblest purposes and ideals, — in 
actual practice. This was always my hope, before I became a 
married man. And I was doomed to disappointment,” said 
Richard, dejectedly. 

‘‘ Why do you say doomed? No one is ever doomed. You 
are far too sensible a man to accept any situation as irrevoc¬ 
able,” said Maxine thoughtfully. 

‘‘That’s just the point. I don’t propose to accept it as 
irrevocable. I’m tired of playing the part of a hypocrite 
any longer, — of being the husband of one woman when I’m 
in love with another. As a matter of fact, I haven’t kissed 
Mrs. Radeliffe on the lips for nearly ten years. The last time 
that I remember of kissing her, when I really meant it, — she 
seemed to assume an affected responsiveness, and from that 
moment, I became utterly indifferent. 

‘ ‘ Maxine, if you care for me, and you have given me some 
reason to believe that you do, by your willingness to spend so 
much time with me, — why not let me make a clean breast of 
this whole affair? Then we can arrange matters, so that we 
can have each other, live our own lives in the open, and face 
unashamed the critical world, — proving to every one, by the 
example of our sincerity and devotion to each other, that the 
way of love, — the mightiest, conquering force in the universe, 
is always the right way.” 

At this instant, Richard made an effort to press Maxine’s 
lips close to his, but she restrained him, saying: 

“Not yet; not now, Richard. I must have more time in 
which to deliberate; more time to get my bearings. This is a 
perilous situation for all of us, involving the gravest conse¬ 
quences. We must do nothing hastily; nothing which we 

[ 247 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


shall ever regret; nothing which shall ever cause us to reflect 
that we have thought only of ourselves. ’ ’ 

They talked on, far into the night. Maxine had read, 
from her earliest college days, studiously and searchingly, on 
every subject which had to do with romance, friendship and 
love. She had perused nearly all classical, standard literature, 
relating to such matters. She had followed everything, from 
the great poets and fiction writers to Schopenhauer, — Marie 
Corelli, — Havelock Ellis, and Ellen Key. And yet, all her 
experience, reading and observation, had not equipped her to 
make this great decision in her life. She knew not what to do. 
Here was Richard Radcliffe, who interested her; whose every 
thought and aspiration were in accord with her own genuine 
nature, and idealism; who cared for the same things in the 
same way as she, herself, did ; and who, above all, met the re¬ 
quirements of her soul. And still, there was the proverbial 
fly in the ointment; the eternal triangle, which must be made 
a right angle, before she could be legitimately entitled to 
Richard Radcliffe’s name, protection and love. 

All of Maxine’s conservative traditions warned her 
against such an alliance. Could she build her own happiness 
on the foundation of the unhappiness of another? And 
surely, if she were to take the step which Richard had urged 
her to take, it would mean unhappiness for Eleanor Radcliffe. 

Richard made plain to Maxine, that for many years, he 
and his wife had been bound to each other only by such ties 
as would characterize the most Platonic friendship, — that 
there had been no strong bond of love between them, — since 
the birth and death of the only child which they had ever had. 
Richard made it clear that, while his married life had been 
the gravest disappointment in his existence, that he had never 
thought of actually divorcing Eleanor until he had reached 

[ 248 ] 


The Vital Question 


the final conclusion that he could never think his highest 
thoughts, and give his best service to the world, without the 
constant companionship of Maxine. 

Maxine admitted that whenever she was in Richard’s 
company, she always felt that her soul was properly attuned 
to the infinite: — that they were united by the ties of com¬ 
radeship, ideals, and a true desire to see and make the whole 
world happy. 

However, Maxine could not bring herself to the point of 
acquiescence to Richard’s wishes. She could not consent to 
sanction his proposition to lay the matter in its true light 
before his wife, •— trusting to Eleanor’s indomitable pride to 
give her husband his freedom, when once she understood that 
he wanted it. Richard, himself, believed that if the situation 
were to be revealed to Eleanor, she would immediately, on her 
own initiative, suggest that one or the other should obtain a 
divorce. He was perfectly willing to make a liberal settlement 
of property in Mrs. Radcliffe’s favor. His abundance of sub¬ 
stantial, worldly goods would make it possible for him to do 
this, in such manner as would be fittingly in keeping with his 
innate, old-time, chivalrous spirit of generosity. 

Maxine’s powers of resistance to Richard’s pleadings and 
entreaties were challenged by the fact that she knew, in her 
own heart, that she loved him with a depth of sincerity and 
affection, which she had never cherished for any other. 
The companionable relationship, between Maxine and 
Richard, had gone on, until there existed a situation between 
them which amounted, practically, to mutual indispensability. 

“It seems so foolish, — so utterly stupid, that three sane 
people should go on living in such an unnatural manner,— 
forced by restraint and convention to do every day the things 
which they do not want to do. That is the way you and 

[ 249 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Eleanor and I are all living. I feel sure that Eleanor really 
enjoys herself much more when she is in Washington, with 
her own people, than she does when she and I are together,— 
except, of course, she always seems to get a certain amount of 
satisfaction from tormenting me. While, at times, I do assert 
myself, yet, at other times, I exercise so much self-control that 
my life is one of repression, rather than expression. That is 
always had. 

“I don’t like to pose as a martyr of matrimonial cruci¬ 
fixion. I have never discussed this subject with any one else, 
and I do not intend to make it a subject of future conversa¬ 
tion between us. It would be very selfish and unbecoming of 
me to do so. 

“I would merely like to dismiss the matter from my life, 
— and, so far as possible, from my thoughts. After all, I 
prefer to attribute the unhappiness of my married life to the 
fact that Mrs. Radcliffe and I were temperamentally mis- 
mated. 

“We were both rather young, — she twenty-two and,— 
well, •— I was five years older, and really should have weighed 
matters more carefully. Upon reflection, though, I don’t 
believe that any man under thirty can be sure of himself in a 
love affair, — and perhaps, at that, I ought to say thirty-five. 
The happiest, married men whom I know, are those who were 
confirmed bachelors, well beyond thirty, before they married. 

“I hope now, that after all these years, which it has taken 
to find the one woman in the world to whom I can give my 
whole heart, with the full consciousness that my devotion and 
love will be appreciated and reciprocated, that I am not going 
to meet the fate of a double misfortune, by being obliged to 
remain the husband of one woman, because the only other 
woman in my life refuses to become a vital part of it, owing 

[ 250 ] 


The Vital Question 


to the fact that she is restrained by the formal customs which 
govern conventional society, — by the fear that some Madame 
Grundy will say that Maxine Marling came between Richard 
Radcliffe and his wife. 

“Maxine, I believe that you are bigger than that, — that 
you will not take the chance of missing what would, un¬ 
doubtedly, prove to be the greatest happiness in the lives of 
both of us, because of what a few ‘catty’ women will say.” 

“No, that isn’t the point so much as that I hesitate to do 
anything, which will make another woman wretched and 
miserable. We both appreciate that Mrs. Radcliffe has many 
fine elements in her character. She probably cares for you 
more than you know. There is always a psychological side to 
these matters, which two of the parties to the triangle can never 
understand, — so we must admit to ourselves that we can not 
fully comprehend Mrs. Radcliffe’s exact situation, or what 
may be going on in her mind. In order to do her full justice, 
— and I am sure that neither of us wants to be any thing less 
than just, we must make allowances for the possible state of 
her feelings. 

“I can not make a decision now. There is a Voice within 
me which restrains me. I have a deep conviction, as I have 
always told you, that the right way for us to decide, both trivial 
and great questions, is always striving to enter our conscious¬ 
ness, if we will resign ourselves passively to the Supreme in¬ 
fluence of a great Over-ruling Divine Mind. We shall have 
to wait and see what this Highest Intelligence tells us to do, ’ ’ 
concluded Maxine, very earnestly. 

“Well, I suppose I.must be resigned, — I will be re¬ 
signed, to whatever you think best,” Richard answered, com¬ 
placently. 


[ 251 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Then he continued: “I will let you be the judge of this. 
A woman surely has the right to dominion over her own heart 
and mind and soul. She must at all times be the judge of her¬ 
self ; her actions and her general deportment. It is very diffi¬ 
cult to help to make decisions for another. Today, for instance, 
I was put to a very severe test. 

“A friend of many years standing, who was a college 
classmate of mine, made a large fortune in New York in 
corporation law practice. He left a great estate at his death to 
two sons, Charles and Lionel Rutherford. Recently, they have 
become involved in the most complicated litigation over the 
division of their Father’s estate. Matters have come to an 
almost hopeless pass. 

‘ ‘ The brothers came to me, today, both requesting that I 
should become the arbiter of their affairs. Because of my 
love for their Father, I consented. Charles is seven years 
older than Lionel, and has been associated with his Father for 
many years in his Father’s business; while Lionel has been 
at school. Therefore, I reasoned that Charles would neces¬ 
sarily, have a much more practical knowledge of the affairs of 
his Father’s estate than would Lionel. Therefore, I rendered 
this decision: that Charles shall divide the estate into two 
portions; then Lionel may choose within sixty days which 
portion shall be his; and Charles, of course, shall have the 
remaining portion. What do you think of this decision? Was 
it fair ? ’ ’ queried Richard. 

“You showed the judgment of a Solomon. You ought to 
be in a position of either great executive or judicial responsi¬ 
bility. That is the kind of judgment which we both need to 
pray for, before we decide this great question, which affects 
us both so vitally,” answered Maxine earnestly. 


[ 252 ] 


CHAPTER XI 


The Parting 

W HAT have you been doing since I saw you ? ’’ queried 
Richard, rather anxiously, just after his arrival at 
Maxine’s apartment, following an absence of more than a 
month, during which time he had been obliged to make another 
trip to the Pacific Coast. 

He returned to New York on the third day of November, 
1917, — just one week after the formal announcement that 
the first shots had been fired by the American soldiers in 
France, — and on the very day that the news of the first 
American casualties, twenty in number, reached the United 
States. This was just after the Germans had abandoned their 
position at Chemin des Dames. 

America was just beginning to realize that the United 
States was, actually, in the war,-—that it was not to be a 
mere paper war, — but a bitter, bloody conflict of national 
antagonisms, — to be fought with all the ardor and combative 
skill, of which every nation concerned was capable. Naturally, 
the first loss of life touched, with electrical influence, the heart 
of every true-blooded American. Every one seemed to realize 
that whenever an American was sacrificed, that the country 
had lost a vital part of itself, — in giving one of its sons to 
strengthen the cause of a tragic-stricken humanity. 

“I haven’t been doing anything, except what I wrote you 
about,—speaking in the Liberty Loan drives, and helping to 

[ 253 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

organize committees which are engaged in all kinds of war 
work. 

‘ ‘ I have learned a great many things. First of all, I went 
one evening to speak to an audience of telephone operators,— 
to stimulate the interest of these girls, so that they would, 
from their small salaries, be encouraged to save enough money 
to buy, at least, one Liberty Bond for each girl. I found that 
these girls average, in their daily routine, to complete three 
and one-half calls per minute, or about, two hundred and 
twenty-five calls per hour, which is considered an example of 
real ‘speed,’ but often does not represent the ‘peak load,’ 
which exceeds this number. They average to work eight and 
one-half hours daily, but with overtime, Sunday work, ‘work¬ 
ing through,’ loss of relief, and ‘excess loading,’ these hours 
are often exceeded. 

“I went, also, to speak to Needle Trades Girls, where 
I found many young women tending sewing machines, which 
carried twelve needles each, making four thousand stitches a 
minute, or two million four hundred thousand stitches in ten 
hours, often working in a bright light, and with unshaded 
eyes, amidst a deafening roar. 

“I have been in a canning factory, where every girl 
averaged to inspect two cans of peas per second, or seventy- 
two thousand cans per day. Other girls placed the caps on 
the cans at the rate of sixty to eighty per minute. 

* ‘ I spoke, too, in some of the shoe factories, where men are 
employed. I saw some of the workmen revolve the shoes in 
such a manner as to trim off the crimped surplus leather 
from the ‘upper.’ They averaged five thousand two hundred 
shoes a day. In the eyeletting department of these same shoe 
factories, expert workers finished two thousand pairs of 
women’s shoes in one day. Each of these shoes has as many 

[254] 


The Parting 


as twelve holes, irregularly spaced, making forty-eight thou¬ 
sand eyelets per day,” said Maxine thoughtfully. 

“It’s pretty tough, isn’t it, asking these manual laborers 
to buy Liberty Bonds, when they work with every ounce of 
their strength that they may earn enough to barely live upon ? 
And yet, of course, if the war continues, these workers will 
nearly all have some near relative who is serving in the war,— 
whom they will be helping to sustain, by their purchase of 
Liberty Bonds. 

“Personally, I feel that the burden of this great fight 
should be put upon the war profiteers. Since I have been 
spending so much time in Washington, I, too, have learned 
a good many things. The flour milling merchants have been 
enriched by profits, which are without precedent. Some of 
the jobbers and commission men have made over sixty per 
cent profit. 

“Government fixation of prices of commodities will in¬ 
sure and stimulate production. While this will prevent the 
market from running away; at the same time, the stronger 
factors, in every industry, will be further strengthened in 
their position, which will result in giving a wide range of 
profits. Government determination of a maximum profit will 
not be altogether complied with. Wherever this maximum 
price is exceeded, the profits will be very great. 

“The farmer receives for four and one-half bushels of 
wheat, constituting a barrel of flour, eight dollars and thirty- 
seven cents. For the same barrel of flour, the miller receives 
twelve dollars and seventy cents; the baker fifty-eight dol¬ 
lars and seventy cents; and the hotelkeeper, in New York 
and Washington, five hundred and eighty-seven dollars. 

“A pound of cotton, which brings the farmer twenty- 

[ 255 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


seven cents, will retail, in some instances, as high as three 
dollars and a half, or four dollars a pound. 

“ There is the same wild profiteering with steel and coal. 
Copper, petroleum, gasoline, leather goods, and all canned 
products, are veritable gold mines for the profiteers. Wher¬ 
ever the government fixes a definite margin of profit above 
costs, there is a considerable incentive to a fictitious en¬ 
hancement of costs, through account juggling. This adds 
to the volume of unusual profits. Increase of cost showing 
on the producers ’ books, can be accomplished in various ways. 
The item of depreciation can be padded. Officers’ salaries 
can be increased. Interest on investment can be included in 
cost. New construction can be recorded as repairs. Ficti¬ 
tious valuations on raw material can be added, and inven¬ 
tories can be manipulated. 

“Commercial bribery has increased the price of supplies 
to the consumer. Many concerns have withheld portions of 
their contract deliveries, and sold spot on the market at the 
higher price. 

“One man gave me to understand, indirectly, but never¬ 
theless, pointedly,—because he did not dare to make such 
an audacious proposition outright, that he would give me a 
commission amounting to more than three million dollars, if 
I would secure for him, a contract to furnish all the gasoline 
to be used by the United States government in the conduct 
of the war. He knew that I was in a position to secure this 
contract for him, and to act as intermediary between him 
and the government, to have the price of gasoline fixed at 
an exorbitant figure. I assured him, in no uncertain terms, 
that I would never make any money by such an insidious 
practice, and I gave him my opinion of men who were making 
their fortunes by such dishonest methods. Such reprehensible 

[ 256 ] 


The Parting 


practices are a disgrace to the country, but many of the 
Dollar-A-Year Patriots are resorting to just such contempt¬ 
ible measures. When I agreed to give my services to my 
country for a dollar-a-year, it was because I had a real desire 
to render service, and not because I intended to fill my own 
pockets/ ’ Richard declared with whole-hearted emphasis. 

“I’m sure of that. My confidence in you is at all times 
justified. You never fail to measure up to my standards of 
manhood and humanitarianism. 

“Many women’s organizations are contemplating send¬ 
ing representatives to France. Only yesterday, I received 
a letter from our mutual friend, Senator Wainwright, urging 
me to make preparations to go to France. He requested that 
I speak to the troops on such subjects as would help to sus¬ 
tain their courage and morale. He wrote me on his own 
initiative,—said that he thought I could do so much good, 
and that if I would only make up my mind to go, that he 
would see to it that I should be given letters of introduction 
to General Pershing,—as well as all of our Ambassadors in 
the Allied countries. 

“I have just been reading an editorial which appeals 
not only to the men of the land, but to every woman, as well, 
to come to the country’s aid. It says: ‘No one who is free 
to serve, and does not serve, can escape the epithet of slacker. 
To save the world from present peril will mean incalculable 
benefits to every man, woman and child, for all future genera¬ 
tions. ’ 

“What do you think about my idea of going to war? 
I haven’t replied to Senator Wainwright’s letter yet.” 

“The gruesome slaughter, blood-shed and carnage of 
war make it too cruel and awful for refined women to think 
of contacting it,—beyond the point of necessity in the hos- 

[ 257 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


pitals, where, of course, they must serve as nurses, ’ ’ answered 
Richard, in reflective mood. Then he continued: “I think 
you can find enough to do here at home. ,, 

Maxine remonstrated by saying: 

1 ‘ There are many ways by which earnest, capable women 
can render services in this war, by providing proper forms 
of recreation and amusement for our soldiers, in such a way 
as will help to keep up their spirits. It is woman’s business 
to guide, redeem and heal in this great conflict; just as it is 
man’s business to crush and annihilate wrong by military force. 
It is woman’s function to touch with a soothing balm and 
guide with her true, feminine wisdom,— not for her own self¬ 
advancement, but for self-renunciation,—just as it is man’s 
function to provide the action,—progressive and defensive;— 
the energy, adventure and invention necessary for carrying 
on war.” 

“But what do you think I am going to do,—with my 
‘inspiration’ gone to France? You have given me just the 
mental stimulus, which I have needed in the service which I 
have performed for the country, since war was declared. 

“I suppose that you realize that it is almost a year now 
since we began to see each other frequently,—and your con¬ 
fidence has proven to be such a powerful incentive to me that 
I have kept myself up to a standard, which I have never even 
approximated before. Although I have always prided myself 
on my patriotism, which was instilled into my mind, as a child, 
at the same time, I would never have been able to put the spirit 
and energy into my work, which I have done in the last seven 
months of my war activities, had it not been for your stimula¬ 
tion, encouragement and appreciation. 

“Again I ask you, if you go away, what am I to do?” 

“I know that with your bigness of heart, that if I decide 

[ 258 ] 


The Parting 


to go, you will understand that my decision indicates in no 
way a disparagement, or lack of appreciation, of our com¬ 
radeship and friendship. Nothing can take the place of that, 
so far as our personal happiness is concerned. But I believe 
that you will agree with me, that even though we need each 
other,—at the same time, there is no excuse for us to think 
only of ourselves, when the heart of the whole world is bleed¬ 
ing and crying for help. 

“We must subvert all egotism; all selfishness, in times 
like these. We must consider only the thought of securing 
the greatest good for the greatest number. That is always 
the highest altruism. To be magnanimous is the truest 
wisdom. It is difficult to say what would have become of 
this old world, if such men as Socrates, Pericles, Miltiades, 
Caesar, Cromwell, Washington and Lincoln had thought only 
of themselves,” said Maxine, thoughtfully. 

“Or Joan of Arc,” ejaculated Richard, “for she did 
more than all the men of her time, to promote the highest 
interests of humanity.” 

“Yes, indeed, and you are very gallant to mention her,” 
echoed Maxine. “And the women must serve humanity in 
this crisis, by following her example, insofar as they are 
capable.” 

To which Richard replied: “I suppose so. It is all right 
to love humanity, but I was born a specialist. For the third 
time I’ll ask you, what am I going to do without you?” 

“If, as you say, I am an inspiration to you now, I ought 
to constitute a double inspiration in your life, if I go ahead 
and accomplish something, too. I think that at first, I will 
do some preliminary work in the camps of this country,— 
to try myself out,—to see if I can make myself a factor in 
helping to send the ‘boys’ away in good spirits,—but later, 

[ 259 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

—as soon as I feel competent, I want to go to France,— and 
I know that your own heart will be with mine, in our devotion 
to our country.” 

From this time until February, 1918, Maxine gave most 
of her time to addressing the soldiers in the military camps 
of the Middle States. Wherever she went, she received an 
ovation. As Colonel Sedgwick expressed it, one time, when 
Richard went out to Camp Upton, to escort Maxine hack to 
New York: “She certainly does ‘put it over.’ She’s a riot¬ 
ous success. She’ll he a regular dynamo in France. Let’s 
see, she’s sailing next week, isn’t she?” 

“That’s what she says. It’s wonderful how she holds 
their interest,” commented Richard. 

“ I ’ll say it is. Most of the women, who have been out here 
to speak, have not made a particularly strong impression. 
They do much better in canteen work, or by entertaining the 
boys by singing, or playing some musical instrument. But, 
somehow, Miss Marling is different. She is in a class by her¬ 
self,— a genius, in stirring up all the elements of hope, valor, 
determination and courage,— which men possess. I’m for 
her, strong, and I hope that I’m not going to be detained here 
in the States much longer, so that I won’t miss the opportu¬ 
nity of observing the early influences of her work Over-Seas. 
Glad to have met you,” remarked the Colonel, while he shook 
hands with Richard, before responding to a call to perform 
some minor, military duty, in another part of the camp. 

“Colonel Sedgwick seems to be mightily interested in 
you,— had a lot of wonderfully nice things to say about 
you,— just gave me an ear full,— appears to me that he’s 
awfully keen about you! Guess I’ll have to look into the 
matter,” said Richard, jokingly, while he and Maxine were 

[260] 


The Parting 

leaving Camp Upton, in Radcliffe’s high-powered coupe, 
driven by himself. 

“0, no. He’s just a good fellow, and we get along fine! 
His support has been a great help to me out here, because 
he has entered into the spirit of my work, very enthusias¬ 
tically,” explained Maxine. Then she dismissed the subject, 
and they talked of other things, during their journey back 
to the city. 

It was understood that Mary Ann should remain in 
Maxine’s apartment, in full charge of Argus, until Maxine 
should return from Prance. Richard would continue to 
maintain his hotel and office headquarters, in both Wash¬ 
ington and New York, as he had been doing for some time. 
Occasionally, he had spent a week-end in the Fairchild home 
in Washington. Eleanor had made a trip, during the sum¬ 
mer of 1917, to their Mount Olympic home,—when the 
weather in Washington, D. C., had become unbearably hot. 
She had been accompanied by one of her sisters, who had 
remained with her, for nearly two months. Richard had 
remained in the East until some time after Eleanor’s return 
from the West. He had spent very little time with his wife, 
for the past fifteen months. He had put her off, from time to 
time, with the explanation that his work was so exacting 
and arduous, that he found it impossible to relax his strenu- 
osity, or to give himself over to the family pastimes of the 
Fairchilds. 

On the night before Maxine’s departure for France, 
Richard dined with her at her Riverside Drive apartment. 
It seemed to him, that she had never before been so bewitch- 
ingly beautiful. She was handsomely gowned in a white 
costume of heavy georgette crepe, trimmed with narrow bands 
of soft, white fur. Mary Ann had dressed her hair in an 

[261] 


A Warning to Wives 


unusually becoming manner, so that its natural waves receded 
gracefully from her high, noble forehead. 

There was a deep tenderness in Richard’s voice, as he 
said: 

“I feel that I am losing every thing which makes life 
worth living,— the companionship and sweet guidance of the 
woman of my ideals; but even though I am to lose you now,— 
only temporarily, I hope, in our country’s service, I am filled 
with gratitude to have been blessed with the radiant sunshine 
of your good humor and great goodness. 

“You have meant more in my life than anyone else, 
because you have been so quick to awaken in my nature, a 
renewed call for the best,— a call which has been somewhat 
dormant, for some time. 

“My appreciation of the highest ideals of literature; of 
the finest models in art; of the greatest pieces of music, has 
been enhanced a thousand fold, by my association with you; 
and, with it all, you have been a human being, with a big 
streak of sympathy and good fellowship in your soul. 

“Most women of your studious inclinations and scholarly 
attainments, would drive a man crazy. They are, as a rule, 
about as sympathetic as a Greenland iceberg; and they re¬ 
spond to the social needs and requirements of the average 
busy man, about as much as a mountain glacier yields to the 
influence of the sun’s rays in January. 

“I have often wondered why the average academic woman 
does not seem to think it more generally worth while, to ac¬ 
quire for herself the charm of sympathy.” 

“Largely because of her lack of social experience and 
the restricted environment, in which woman has lived,” an¬ 
swered Maxine. 

Then she continued discerningly: 

[ 262 ] 


The Parting 


“Of course, woman is always afraid of being misunder¬ 
stood, if she gives her sympathy too spontaneously, or too 
readily. She reasons that her power of reserve adds to the 
element of mystery, in her make-up, and entices man into a 
more persistent pursuit for her favor.’’ 

“Very well said,” commented Richard, “but I think 
many women would get farther along, on the Road to Happi¬ 
ness, if they spent more time on the Realities of Life, instead 
of its superficialities.” 

“For instance?” queried Maxine. 

“Well, if women would, in the main, make an effort 
to win the complete, human confidences of men, so that men 
would not only dare, but would really want to, reveal more 
of their characters, in their true light, to their sisters, sweet¬ 
hearts and wives, the result would make for a wholesome 
frankness; a greater sincerity, and men, I think, really want 
to be sincere and candid, in their relationships with women, 
if they could only know it to be safe,” concluded Richard. 

‘ ‘ The time will come when it will be easier, for both men 
and women, to be perfectly frank with each other. We must 
take into account the extreme, psychological differences in 
the traditions of men and women, from the dawn of creation 
to the present time. All men, by traditional inheritance, 
are, in varying degrees, innately polygamous; whereas, 
woman, for her own protection, and the welfare of her chil¬ 
dren, is naturally monogamous. 

“She wants the intense, devoted, concentrated love of 
one man. She will not, as yet, take into consideration, or 
make any allowances for the survival of man’s polygamous 
instincts. If she were to do this, however, it would not be 
dangerous to her future safety; it would mean no compromise 
of modern standards. It would simply mean, that she was 

[ 263 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


honest enough to admit, that no woman has such a monopoly, 
or aggregation of charms, that her own personal allurements 
can make her sweetheart, friend, or husband, completely im¬ 
mune, to the attractions of other women. 

“If wives recognized this fact, and reasoned, according¬ 
ly, they would appreciate, in unity with their husbands, the 
attractive feminine attributes of other women, and profit 
by them,— thereby reducing, to a minimum, the tendency of 
many men to over-estimate the charms of many women, not 
their wives; and their desires to carry on clandestine, love 
affairs with them.” 

“I agree,” replied Richard, “but is it not, also, true, 
that no man can claim for himself such a combination of 
desirable traits, and exceptional qualities, that his wife, or 
friend, or sweetheart, can attribute to herself entire im¬ 
munity, from the enticements of other men?” 

11 No, that is not true;— especially, when the man in the 
case has the combination of poise, breeding, good-looks, brains 
and character, of yourself,” suggested Maxine, playfully. 

“Very prettily said. Why do you always think the right 
thing,— say the right thing, and do the right thing?” he 
asked. 

“Because you are so good-natured and generous, that it 
would be impossible for me to do otherwise. Because you have, 
to a greater degree, than any one else in the world, that keen 
appreciation, and refinement of character, which makes it 
possible for me, always, to be at my best, whenever I am 
with you. 

“You remember Van Dyke says: 

“ ‘We measure success by accumulation; 

The measure is false; 


[ 264 ] 


The Parting 


The true measure is appreciation; 

He has most, who gives most and loves most/ ” 

Richard, never nonplussed for words, answered: 

“ ‘When you were a tadpole; 

And I was a fish 
In the Paleozoic time, 

And side by side 
On the Umbrian tide, 

We sprawled through the ooze and slime; 

Or skittered with many a caudal flip 
Through the depths of the Cambrian fen; 

My heart was rife with the joy of life;— 

For I loved you even then/ ” 

Richard had, finally, rather reluctantly, consented to 
Maxine’s plan for engaging in foreign war work. Deep down 
in his heart, there was an innate love for his fellow-men, and 
the blood of patriotism flowed, in surging currents, through 
his veins. 

In a quiet, unostentatious way, he had always contrib¬ 
uted, most generously, to all public-spirited movements. At 
this very time, he was mailing his personal checks, regularly, 
to all of the social service war organizations. In his own state, 
when he had recently visited it, he had been the founder of a 
fund, the object of which, was to provide creature comforts, 
and a few delicacies and luxuries, for the soldiers from his 
own community, during their period of service, both at home 
and abroad. 

Richard Radcliffe was the type of patriot, whose work is 
essential to the maintenance and defense of all governments; 


[ 265 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


—the kind of citizen, whose services are the first to be solicited 
when the country is in danger, and the first to be forgotten, 
when that danger has been overcome. 

From the very first, when Richard had opposed Maxine’s 
plan to go to France, he had secretly admired her courage 
and altruism;—indeed, Maxine’s course of action had 
strengthened and re-invigorated Richard’s own deep sense of 
patriotism, and love for his country. 

On the day when she was to sail, Richard secured permis¬ 
sion from the Custom House officer, to go with her, aboard the 
steamer. In these perilous times, so much secrecy had to be 
attached to all information, concerning sailings, that it was 
quite out of the question for Richard to send packages to the 
ship. His arms were loaded with flowers, and other gifts, 
when he went aboard the steamship Aquitania. He carried 
one box, which he requested Maxine not to open, until the ship 
was out to sea. 

“Now, that you are going, I have made up my mind that 
I shall move heaven and earth, to try to get a commission in 
the army, for myself. If they will accept me, I shall make 
every effort to get to France at the earliest possible time. 

“I can’t bear the idea of your going, while I stay at 
home. I feel that my service to the country will be, at least, 
doubled in efficiency, if I can serve on the same ground on 
which you are serving,—even though we may not be able to see 
each other, but seldom. Look for me, for I am going to try my 
best to come,” said Richard, the last moment before he bade 
Maxine Good-Bye. When he kissed her, he realized that it 
was a concentrated surrender of his sensibilities and his soul, 
to the one woman in the world, who could ever make him 
happy. 

As soon as the steamer was under way, Maxine, in the 

[ 266 ] 


The Parting 

quiet loneliness of her state-room, opened the package which 
Richard had last handed to her. It contained a platinum 
wrist-watch, encircled in deeply set, finely cut diamonds. The 
bracelet was made of small platinum chains, attached to each 
side of the rim of diamonds. Underneath this gift, was a 
note, folded over the satin lining of the box. It read: 

‘ 1 Dearest: 

I hope that this little time-piece will continue 
to tell you a truthful story, every time you look at it, 
until time shall record the humiliating defeat of our 
enemies, and the triumphant victory of ourselves 
and our Allies. I hope that every time, you hear it 
tick, you can hear it saying to you, over and over 
again ‘Every day I love you better than yesterday, 
and every tomorrow, I will love you better than today, 
until the end of time, which shall be eternity, which 
shall have no end,— no more than shall our love for 
each other.’ 

* ‘ Every time that the second hands move around 
a minute, you will know that I am thinking of you,— 
and every time that the minute hands move around 
an hour, you will know that I have sent my best 
thoughts to heaven for you,—by holding communion 
with the Great Supreme Power, which, I trust, some 
way, some how, some where, some time, will deliver 
us to each other, for our eternal happiness. 

“And now, Good-Bye, dear heart, until we meet 
again, in safety and Divine love. My spirit is always 
with you, wherever you may be and whatever you 
are doing. 

“Devotedly, 

“Richard.” 


[ 267 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Before Maxine had finished reading the letter, she was 
weeping copious, generous tears, so big and soulful, that 
Richard would have pronounced them in entire keeping with 
the warmth and intensity of her emotions, and the sponta¬ 
neous sympathy of her genuine, large heart. 


[ 268 ] 


CHAPTER XII 


Eleanor Tries to Win Back Richard’s 
Affections 

I WOULD rather die than to have him know that he 
has me continually worried by his inattention and in¬ 
difference ; and I would rather endure annihilation than to go 
on suffering in silence, from day to day.” 

Such were Eleanor Radcliffe’s reflections, as she hung 
up the receiver, after a telephone conversation with Richard, 
during which time he had revealed to her, on the long 
distance, that he would be unable to spend the week-end in 
Washington. 

Eleanor admitted to herself, reluctantly, that there was, 
undeniably, an infinite chasm, between herself and her hus¬ 
band. 

Was he interested in someone else? Or was it an actual 
fact, that his duties, in connection with the War Administra¬ 
tion, were taking all of his time, as he had represented 
matters to her? Eleanor knew that whenever she had been 
with Richard, of late, — which had been rather infrequently, 
that he had not been himself. He always seemed to be under 
a strain, — full of uneasiness and impatience, — always in 
haste, with some important matter on his mind, which seemed 
to require his concentrated attention, even when he was 
spending only a few hours, or a day, in the Fairchild home. 
Eleanor had been exceedingly annoyed, by Richard’s 

[ 269 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


negligence, for more than a year now. Her annoyance and 
irritability were accentuated by the fact, that her mother 
and sisters had begun to detect that there was something 
wrong. Mrs. Fairchild was a woman of advanced years 
now, without the physical resistance of middle-age, and 
recently, it had been apparent to Eleanor, that her mother 
was worried. It was true that the relations, between mother 
and daughter, had not always been as they should have been, 
because Eleanor, even as a girl, had been rather difficult 
for her mother to understand. However, she had always 
cherished a greater affection for her mother, than for anyone 
else, and she suffered from the consciousness of Mrs. Fair¬ 
child’s unhappiness ; or, perhaps, it would be nearer the truth 
to say, that her pride suffered, from the humiliation which 
came to her, from the knowledge that her mother and sisters, 
could not help but observe that she was, no longer, the 
recipient of her husband’s devotion. 

“Not only for my own satisfaction, but for the sake of 
proving to them that Richard is still loyal to me, and enter¬ 
tains his old-time fondness for me, — I would like to manage 
to win back his affections; — but the question is, how can I 
go about this discreetly? My pride is so wounded, by his 
continued remissness.” 

Thus, did Eleanor dwell upon the great problem, which 
confronted her. She was thoughtful enough, observing 
enough, and studious enough, to know, that, if she were to 
give up the solution of this problem, it would indicate a vital 
weakness in her character. She spent much time, alone, in 
her room. She had many nervous, sleepless nights. 

At last, she made up her mind that she would address a 
letter to Richard’s New York office, and tell him that if he 
would let her know when he could spend a little time at the 

[ 270 ] 


Eleanor Tries to Win Bach Richard f s Affections 


old home, that she would invite Senator and Mrs. Wain- 
wright, to dine with them. She knew that Richard liked the 
Senator, and the relations, between herself and Mrs. Wain- 
wright, had always been cordial and agreeable. 

Richard answered Eleanor ’s letter promptly, and assured 
her that he would come to Washington the following Satur¬ 
day, and that it would afford him no small degree of pleasure 
to see the Wainwrights once more. 

Within a half hour after Eleanor received Richard’s 
letter, she was in the shop of one of the leading modistes of 
Washington. She found a stylish, distinctive gown of rich, 
chiffon velvet, — black, with fringed tassels hanging from 
the right side, — caught at the waist-line by a silver orna¬ 
ment of elegant design and workmanship. The costume was 
exceedingly becoming to Eleanor, as the first glance in the 
mirror assured her. 

“What is the price?” she asked. 

“Three hundred twenty-five dollars,” said the saleslady. 

Eleanor deliberated. She had never paid more than two 
hundred dollars for her smartest gown; and she would not 
have considered making the purchase of so expensive a 
costume, as the one just shown to her, if she had not felt 
that her pride, her heart, and a fight for her whole happiness, 
were at stake. 

“It is a little more than I intended to pay,” remarked 
Eleanor. 

“It requires but very slight alteration, and it is per¬ 
fectly stunning on you,” ejaculated the saleswoman. 

Eleanor continued to look searchingly into the mirror, 
— turning herself at every angle, to get the benefit of the 
various reflections in the looking-glasses, which sur¬ 
rounded her on all sides. 


[ 271 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Finally, she said: “Very well, send it.” 

When Saturday evening came, Eleanor made a very 
pleasing and favorable impression, not only on her guests, 
but even upon Richard himself, who took note of the fact, that, 
for some reason, his wife was looking surprisingly well. 
He did not tell her this, — but with her keen surveillance 
of her husband, on this particular occasion, she knew that 
he looked upon her approvingly, so far as her personal 
appearance was concerned. 

“I want to secure a commission in the army, of such 
rank as will enable me to render the highest service, of 
which I am capable, during this war,” suggested Richard 
to Senator Wainwright, while they were smoking their 
cigars, on the side veranda of the Fairchild home, — imme¬ 
diately following the dinner. 

“You are serving so well, right where you are, that 
I doubt, very much, whether you can do any more for the 
country, as an officer in the army. Of course, if you want 
me to, I will exercise my best influence, to obtain a com¬ 
mission for you,” volunteered the Senator. 

“Very well, go ahead,” said Richard. “There are 
plenty of men who can do the work which I am doing 
right now. The sooner that I can be relieved of my 
present duties, the better it will suit me. I’m getting 
tired of being where I have to witness so much dishonesty 
and such audacious and colossal graft. 

“A lot of these men, who have been ‘pikers’ all their 
lives, are simply coining money now. This war will make, 
at least, twenty thousand new millionaires in the United 
States. It’s a Hell of a country in some ways, isn’t it? 
And yet, what can anybody do? I know of a man, right 
now, who is double-crossing, not only this government, but 

[ 272 ] 


Eleanor Tries to Win Bach Richard’s Affections 

the French government, as well. He has a contract to furnish 
gasoline for them both, and he consigns the shipments, at 
the time he sends them, to whichever government will pay 
him the maximum price. He, and many of the other profi¬ 
teers, are not complying with the standardized prices for 
commodities. It’s just impossible to ‘round up’ such 
people,” exclaimed Richard, disgustedly. 

“Yes, that is one of the attendant evils of all wars. 
Those who are in a position to take advantage of inflated 
prices, and whose patriotism is a mere surface proposition, 
without a single element of sincerity or honesty, back of 
it, always reap huge profits. After the war is over, and 
the period of reconstruction and deflation sets in, then it 
will be the consumer, — the general public, who will pay 
the bills and suffer most, from the policies of economy and 
retrenchment, which will follow,” replied the Senator, in 
analytic mood. 

Awhile later, just before Richard and his guest went 
into the house, prior to the Wainwrights’ leaving, Rad- 
cliffe reminded the Senator to let him know, as soon as 
anything “turned up,” concerning the commission in the 
army. 

Richard went back to New York on the Congressional 
Limited, Sunday afternoon. Eleanor heard no more from 
him for a fortnight. In the meantime, she had received a 
telegram from Freida, announcing the latter’s marriage 
to Knut Nielsen, who, for the last few years, had taken 
care of the lawn and gardens of the Radcliffe home, and, 
when occasion required it, had driven the automobile for 
Eleanor. 

She wondered whether Richard had been advised of 
Freida’s marriage, so she wrote him a note of mere in- 

[273] 


A Warning to Wives 


quiry, relating to this subject only. He answered, briefly, 
that Freida had telegraphed him the news, and that he had 
wired her in reply, to have her husband take up his residence 
at Number Twenty-Three Arbor Court, where Freida had 
been living, with her sister as a companion, during the Rad- 
cliff es ? absence in Washington. 

The summer before, Richard had explained to Eleanor, 
before she went home, that he had been obliged to bring 
Argus East with him, for the treatment of the pernicious 
malady, which afflicted him, and that he had committed him 
to the custody of an experienced caretaker, who had brought 
him back to perfect health. This piece of news had delighted 
Eleanor, because it had relieved her mind of all anxiety, 
concerning the damage, which Argus might do to her house¬ 
hold possessions, while she was away from home. 

This made one less thing for her to worry about, during 
the months of harassment and depression, while she had 
been worried over Richard’s lack of interest in her. 

She was beginning to have more serious misgivings than 
formerly, relative to Richard’s prolonged absences from home. 
Accordingly, she decided that she would make a trip to New 
York, on her own initiative, — with the idea of investigating, 
in some way, the possible causes of her husband’s strange 
conduct. Then, too, her suspicions had been further aroused, 
by receiving in the mail, a voluntary letter, or rather an 
announcement, from a well-known detective agency, offering, 
in formal manner, to be of assistance in matters requiring 
confidential investigation. She wondered why, out of a clear 
sky, she should have received any such communication. 
Perhaps, someone knew something of indiscretions in her 
husband’s life, which she did not know, and they wanted for, 
either mischief-making, or commercial reasons, to inform her; 

[ 274 ] 


Eleanor Tries to Win Bach Richard’s Affections 

— or, possibly, the agency had only taken her name from a 
list of the wives of prominent men, whom they were circular¬ 
izing,— merely as a matter of advertising. 

Anyway, she went to New York, and proceeded, directly 
after her arrival to the office of The Always-Find-Them 
Detective Agency, where she consulted the manager, Martyn- 
dale. Altogether, this was the most difficult, and for her, 
the most courageous thing, in her own estimation, which she 
had ever done. It was so humiliating for her to put herself 
in the position, where she must relate to a total stranger, her 
most personal and private affairs. When she apologized, 
for what she felt called upon to say, Martyndale simply said, 
in a quiet, affable manner: ‘ ‘ That is our business, you know. 
We have to do such things every day, for the protection of 
women like yourself, who are not fairly treated. And so, you 
must feel that when you come to us, — you come for service, 
just as you do when you go to your modiste, or banker, or 
attorney. There is no reason why, when a woman of your 
dignity, and standing, and position, believes that she has 
reason to suspect her husband of misconduct in any way, 
whether it be infidelity, or something else, she should not give 
herself the benefit of all the assistance and protection which 
she can get, and to which she is entitled. That is why we are 
here,” concluded Martyndale, while he endeavored, in his 
suave manner, to put his client at her ease. 

Eleanor knew, in her own mind,—regardless of Martyn¬ 
dale ? s experienced methods in dealing with women, — that it 
was an evidence of weakness to take such matters to such 
sources for solution. In spite of the arguments, to the con¬ 
trary, which she had had with herself, she felt that she was 
doing something common, — not at all in keeping with the 
established standards and traditions of the Fairchild family. 


[ 275 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


However, she related her story to Martyndale, who 
assured her that her case would receive the most expert 
attention, which the resources of his office could give it, and 
that he would furnish her with a report, in a few days. 

Eleanor decided that it would be best to remain in the 
city, until she received some news from Martyndale. She 
did not want to endure any more suspense than was neces¬ 
sary, and besides, she did not want to risk the possibility of 
any of the members of her family finding out the object of 
her visit to New York, — until she could be sure, one way or 
the other, that her suspicions were either illusional or well- 
grounded ;—if the former, then she would dismiss the matter 
absolutely, and seek to discover some other cause for 
Richard’s negligence. 

Never before in her life, had Eleanor been alone, in a 
hotel. It all seemed so strange. Whenever she had traveled, 
Richard had always accompanied her, except, a few times, 
when she had gone from Mount Olympic to Washington, 
D. C. She had in mind, when she came to New York, that 
she would do some shopping, but now that she had com¬ 
mitted the secret of her heart to a stranger, she found her¬ 
self laboring under a nervous strain, which prevented her 
from proceeding with even her ordinary activities. The 
most that she did was to walk along Fifth Avenue window¬ 
shopping, and then go back to her room to wait for the 
telephone to ring, hoping that she would hear something, 
which would relieve her severe, mental tension. 

She did manage to invite two of her old acquaintances 
to luncheon, — at different times, so as to lighten the awful 
monotony of these uninteresting days. But she found little 
to say to her friends, and when they offered to return her 
courtesies, she was in too agitated a state of mind to accept 
their invitations. 


[ 276 ] 


Eleanor Tries to Win Bach Richard f s Affections 

On the seventh day of her sojourn, she determined to 
break away from herself long enough to make a few pur¬ 
chases, which would help to account to her mother and 
sisters for her pastimes in New York. Naturally, they 
assumed that she was with Richard. She was a little anxious 
lest he should telephone her at the Fairchild home; — but- 
she thought that there was little danger of this, because in 
the last letter, which she had received from him, he had told 
her that he would not be in Washington for, at least, two 
weeks. She had averted the possibility of any letters from 
Richard being delivered at her old home, by instructing 
the postman, confidentially, to forward her mail, until fur¬ 
ther notice, to her New York address. 

When she returned to her room, in an up-town hotel, 
she found a message waiting for her. She called the number, 
written on the telephone memorandum,— only to be in¬ 
formed that Martyndale wished to see her, at her earliest 
convenience. She told him that if he would come, directly, 
to the mezzanine floor of her hotel, that she would see him 
there. He lost no time in keeping the appointment. Eleanor 
actually trembled with fear and consternation of mind, as 
Martyndale approached. She was already waiting for him, 
in a secluded corner of the parlor floor. He took a seat be¬ 
side her, and then, in low, calm tones, he said: 

“Well, like many other good women, I think you have 
made a mistake. Our most skilful and most conscientious 
experts have followed Mr. Radcliffe with unabating vigi¬ 
lance, for a week now. He lives very quietly at the Belmont 
Hotel;—dines only with his business associates,—works very 
hard in his office, for about eight hours every day,—employs 
only men in stenographic and secretarial positions, and alto¬ 
gether, leads, what I would call, a very prosaic and un- 

[277] 


A Warning to Wives 


exciting life. He went to the theatre one evening last week, 
— to the Hippodrome, but he took with him, some Congress¬ 
man from Washington, — I think his name is Hargreaves. 
That is all that we have found out so far,” concluded 
Martyndale. 

4 * Well, what about Argus,—his dog, you know? Doesn’t 
he go to see him?” inquired Eleanor. 

“Oh, yes. He did motor, one day, to Great Neck, Long 
Island, to visit the dog. Some real elderly woman is taking 
care of him. She lives in New York most of the time, but I 
understand, that at present, she is spending a few weeks out 
of the city, — looking after the home of Charles Rygate, a 
wealthy, New York insurance man, who owns a big country 
estate, called Windermere. Of course, as I said, this woman 
is an old lady, — very unattractive, and entirely out of the 
range of possibilities, so far as Mr. Radcliffe’s affections 
would be concerned,” explained Martyndale, who wished to 
emphasize the fact that he had not neglected, to follow to 
the end, every possible clue. 

Eleanor breathed a deep sigh of relief. Alas, what 
strange, capricious trick of the Fates, by a timely quirk,— had 
twisted and directed events in such manner that Mary Ann 
Milton had, on the very week of Maxine’s departure, been 
invited, by Mrs. Rygate, who it will be remembered, was a 
devoted friend of Maxine, to spend several weeks at Winder- 
mere, where she was to keep an eye on the servants of the 
household, during the absence of the Rygates at Palm Beach ? 

Mrs. Rygate’s happy thought to, thus, do herself a favor, 
and at the same time, to alleviate Mary Ann’s loneliness, was 
apparently destined to bring quiescence to Eleanor’s per¬ 
turbed spirits. 

Hence, the truth of the poet’s words; 


[ 278 ] 


Eleanor Tries to Win Bach Riclnard f s Affections 

“The world goes around; the sun sets on despair; 

The morrow makes it hope. 

Each little life thinks the great axle 
Of the Universe turns on its fate; 

And finds impertinence in joy or grief 
Conflicting with its own; but fate is woven 
From unnoted threads; each life is centered 
In the life of all; and from the meanest root 
Some fibre runs, which chance or destiny 
May intertwine with those that feed 
The force or guiding thought to 
Rule the world; so goes the world around.’’ 

Eleanor was gratified, beyond words, by Martyndale’s 
report. But still, she was perplexed, while she reminisced 
on the subject of her husband’s behavior. “No doubt,” she 
thought to herself, “my imagination has played pranks with 
me. Richard has always told me that I let my imaginative 
faculties run away with me. I remember how suspicious I 
was of him that time at the matinee, when I saw him with 
Loyola’s friend, — Miss Marling. ’ ’ 

After Martyndale left, Eleanor went upstairs, and found 
under her door, a letter from Loyola Hargreaves, written 
en route from Mount Olympic to Washington, D. C., where 
she was to join Congressman Hargreaves. In this letter, 
Loyola expressed her regrets that she had not been able to 
leave home earlier, so that she might have seen her old 
friend, Maxine Marling, before she sailed for France. 

Mrs. Hargreaves went on to say that Maxine had been 
spending all her time in war work, speaking to the troops in 
the Eastern military camps, for many months, before she 
went Over-Seas. 


[ 279 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Thus, once more, did Fate play kindly into the hands of 
Maxine and Richard. 

Eleanor was so elated with her own mental vindication 
of Richard, that she made up her mind to telephone his office, 
and say to him that she had been in New York, on a shopping 
expedition, and she had been so very busy, that she had not 
been able to get into touch with him before. She would make 
the excuse, too, that she had called his office several times, 
when he was out. She would tell him, also, that she had 
gone to another hotel, because it was more convenient for 
some of her old friends to come to see her, there. She would 
make him believe, that she had not stopped at his hotel, for 
fear that she might disturb him, or interrupt some of his busi¬ 
ness engagements. She knew that it would be just as well to 
give him to understand, for once, that she was not so entirely 
dependent upon him, that she could not make a move without 
him. 

She succeeded in her first attempt to get him on the 
telephone. He did not try to conceal his astonishment, — 
that his wife had come to New York and spent several days 
there, without letting him know. There was something so 
extraordinary about this unprecedented circumstance, that 
it aroused his curiosity, and came very near to exciting his 
suspicion. But, Eleanor conducted her conversation, so 
cleverly and adroitly, that she convinced Richard, without 
apparent effort, that ‘‘things had just happened that way.” 
She put her husband off his guard, so that he had no more 
idea of the object of her visit to New York, than Eleanor had 
of the actual reason why Richard had not spent more time in 
Washington, during the past year. 

“When are you going back home?” Eleanor inquired of 
him, on the telephone. 

Richard was so flabbergasted, by the surprise which 

[ 280 ] 


Eleanor Tries to Win Bach Richard 9 s Affections 

Eleanor had given him, that he replied, almost without hesi¬ 
tation : 

“I'm going to Washington on the five o’clock train, on 
the Pennsylvania. Have you bought your ticket, or shall I 
get it for you?” 

“No, I haven’t. You had better get it,” answered 
Eleanor, while she rejoiced, in her heart, that she would have 
the opportunity, once more, to travel with her husband, for 
five hours, in a Pullman car. Her cheeks were flushed with 
excitement, and her eyes sparkled, while she contemplated 
the pleasure before her. She made herself look her very best, 
before she went to the train to meet Richard. 

She was waiting for him at the Pennsylvania gate to 
Train Number Five, when he arrived, hurriedly, with his 
grip in one hand and tickets in the other. 

“I couldn’t get Pullman seats next to each other,” he 
explained, but possibly, the man in the seat next to you will 
exchange with me. I will speak to him about it,” said 
Richard, as they entered the car. The other traveler com¬ 
plied, cheerfully, with Richard’s request. 

During the journey, tliey talked about the newsiest 
events of the week, such as the capture of Reval by the 
Germans; — and the critical consequences, which were likely 
to ensue, if a Peace should be signed between the Bolshevists, 
on the one side, and the Central Powers, on the other. Then 
Richard remarked, that he was terribly tired, — closed his 
eyes, and reposed himself, for awhile. 

Eleanor sat quietly, reflecting upon many things. Fi¬ 
nally, in her reminiscences, she contrasted the circumstances 
of this journey in the Pullman, with those of a much more 
extended trip, sixteen years before, when she had started, 
with her handsome young husband, in the Pullman car, 

[ 281 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Montevideo, to make that long, transcontinental migration, 
which had terminated in the events of the present hour. 

Alas! What a contrast existed, between that happy 
time, and the commonplaceness of this particular journey. 
And yet, the happiness which permeated her whole being at 
this time, was comparable to, but quite different in its in¬ 
spired qualities, from that which she had experienced on that 
eventful day. 

It was Saturday. Richard remained in Washington 
until Tuesday afternoon. He was detained until a very late 
hour Monday evening, — as he was called into an important 
conference of representatives, who were authorized to make 
contracts for supplies for the Government. 

He returned to the Fairchild home to spend the night. 
He found that Eleanor had not retired, but was waiting 
for him, by the fire-place, in the back parlor of the old 
home,— the very room in which she had received him so 
many times, during the days of their courtship. She was 
gowned in a soft, clinging, white Canton crepe frock of 
Grecian style: — and in spite of the fact, that she looked 
older than her years,— owing, no doubt, to the vital energy 
which she had misdirected and consumed in fretful nag¬ 
ging and non-constructive pursuits,— the warm glow of the 
fire and the delicate, white, lace about her neck, accentu¬ 
ated the softness of her costume to such a degree, that the 
hard, nervous lines of her face were more peaceably subdued 
than they had been before, in many years. She looked better 
than she had for the past several months. The tension, under 
which she had been living, had been relieved, and the ner¬ 
vousness, which she had experienced, was noticeably dis¬ 
appearing. Even Richard, himself, whose thoughts were 
traveling to foreign lands, over and over again,—a countless 

[ 282 ] 


Eleanor Tries to Win Bach Richard’s Affections 

number of times every hour and every day,—could not help 
but observe that Eleanor’s harshness of speech was giving 
way to a certain quality of smoothness and more harmonious 
expression. She seemed less self-centered than she had ever 
been in her life. The discordant notes of her conversation were 
much less evident. The self-assertion, which had always 
made itself manifest in her behavior, was not so apparent. 
The self-confidence, which had characterized her demeanor 
was less perceptible. She was, altogether, in a passive mood, 
— without her usual resistance and impatience. She was 
thinking more of others, and less of herself. She was in 
pensive contemplation,—seriously, but rather sadly, thought¬ 
ful. 

After Richard had discussed with her, in rather cursory 
and desultory manner, the events of the day, Eleanor said to 
him: 

“I visited an orphan asylum today, to carry to the 
children some nuts, candy and fruit; and I chatted with a 
most attractive, interesting, little boy, about six years of 
age. 

“He had such snappy, bright eyes, — such an intelli¬ 
gent expression, — such an appealing, round, healthy face, 
that I actually wanted to bring him home with me. 

“What would you have said if I had?” 

“So far as I am concerned, — at this time of my life, — 
I do not wish to adopt any children, — if that is what you 
mean. On the other hand, I have no objections, if you wish 
to take a child to bring up. But in doing so, you must 
understand, that it is entirely a matter of your own responsi¬ 
bility, with which I shall have nothing to do,—further than to 
keep my purse open for any advantages which it will be 
necessary to give to the child. I would not, however, make 

[283] 


A Warning to Wives 

such a child my heir, or adopt him, legally, as a member of 
my family. 

“It is taking too big a chance. Such a boy as you 
describe, might bring you comfort, in years to come, and he 
might break your heart, — and again, he might grow to be 
just an average, mediocre, sort of a cuss, who would never 
reflect either credit or discredit upon you. 

“Personally, I want to help all the deserving, young 
people whom I can, — to secure an education and advance¬ 
ment in life, but I do not want any of them to be so close to 
me, that if they make a failure of life, it is going to wreck my 
happiness. 

“Of course, with one’s own child, it is very different. 
There is a greater depth of affection, and it is only right that 
if the parents make a failure of bringing up their own child, 
that they should bear, gracefully, any tragedy which comes 
into their lives, through their own children. 

“But I believe it is going far beyond the call of duty, 
to invite, voluntarily, such a risk as would be involved in 
the responsibility of rearing, educating, and determining a 
career, for a child not one’s own,” concluded Richard, with 
an air of definiteness. 

He was ruminating, in his heart, over the events of about 
twelve years ago, when his own infant son, only a half hour 
old, passed into the great unknown. He reflected upon all 
that the future would hold for him, if he had this son for a 
daily companion now. It would make life very different. 
Then, too, Eleanor would have meant more to him, if she had 
given the best part of her life to the perpetuation of the 
Radcliffe name. 

“Possibly,” he thought to himself, “her conscience has 
been giving her some trouble, — else she would not have 

[ 284 ] 


Eleanor Tries to Win Bach Richard 1 s Affections 

been thinking of adopting a boy.” Before this time though, 
she had never indicated, in any way, that she had suffered any 
remorse over the fact that she had elected to choose a pain¬ 
less birth of her own baby. Richard could not figure out 
whether Eleanor had been cogitating over the big mistake, 
which he believed that she had made, at the time of the 
child’s birth, or whether her idea of adopting a son, was to 
bring a steady, affectionate companionship into her rather 
lonely life. It occurred to him, also, that the thought might be 
taking root in Eleanor’s mind, because she believed that it 
would give her an opportunity to win back something of his 
old time affection for her. 

He did not know, that within recent weeks, Eleanor’s 
mother had suggested to her that the adoption of a child 
would, possibly, prove to be the most practical and expedient 
means of strengthening her hold upon her husband. 

In fact, Mrs. Fairchild had gone so far as to say to 
Eleanor, during one of the latter’s erratic moods: “It is very 
difficult to sustain, for a life-time, the affections of a hus¬ 
band, who has been deprived of parenthood. I have always 
believed that if you could only have endured the excruci¬ 
ating pain, at the time of your little boy’s birth, and thus 
avoided the necessity of surrendering all means of helping 
yourself at the time, that your life would have been happier. 
When the doctors told you that this was the only thing to 
do, — to keep for yourself sufficient strength and conscious¬ 
ness to enable you to help yourself and the child, — if you 
could only have made up your mind to go through it, things 
would not have been as they are, between you and Richard, 
today. ’ ’ 

As a rule, Eleanor resented receiving many suggestions 
or much advice, even from her own mother, but at the time 

[ 285 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


of this conversation, between Mrs. Fairchild and her 
daughter, Eleanor was in such a perturbed, distressed state 
of mind, that she gave only earnest and serious meditation 
to her mother’s pointed remarks. 

“And, as to the matter of adopting a child, I would 
do whatever Richard thinks best about it. I would not think 
of making any such drastic change in my family affairs, 
without his full consent,” said Mrs. Fairchild to Eleanor, at 
the conclusion of their conversation, concerning the trying 
domestic situation, in which her daughter found herself. 

Hence, Eleanor had decided, that since Richard did not 
approve of her proposed course of action, that she would 
give up the idea of bringing a child into their home, — espe¬ 
cially, since he had made it clear that he would assume no 
responsibility, in connection with the matter. 

Eleanor was still perplexed, as to what she could do, 
which would bring about a reinstatement of Richard’s atten¬ 
tions and affections. Even though she had believed, ever since 
she had received Martyndale’s report, that there was no other 
woman in her husband’s life,—she was still at a loss to under¬ 
stand Richard’s apparent unconsciousness of the fact that his 
wife required some of his old-time attention. That he was in¬ 
different, to the idea of spending much of his time with her, 
was obvious. There was nothing in his conduct, or attitude 
toward her, which seemed to indicate a positive aversion to 
her, — and yet, there was a great, broad gulf between them, 
— a big, indefinable something, which was a barrier to any 
close relationship, — even bordering on compatibility. 

The buoyancy of spirits, which had taken possession of 
her, when Martyndale had assured her that there was noth¬ 
ing inappropriate, or unbecoming, in Richard’s life, had sub- 

[ 286 ] 


Eleanor Tries to Win Bach Richard’s Affections 

sided, now that she found her efforts to win him back, futile 
and useless. 

It would have been difficult, for the most experienced 
psycho-analyist to determine, whether in the depth of her 
heart, she really cherished the highest affection and most 
exalted sentiment, of which she was capable, toward her 
husband; or whether, she simply suffered, abnormally, from 
a condition of wounded pride, due to the repression of de¬ 
sires, which were consciously rejected, but sub-consciously 
persistent. That her pride was the dominant element of her 
character, there could be no doubt. Up to the last eighteen 
months of her life, she had always been able to indulge her¬ 
self in the belief that her position, as the wife of Richard 
Radcliffe, was unimpeachable. Now, she began to feel that 
this was not true. For more than fourteen years, she had 
been able to do very much as she pleased about the adminis¬ 
tration of her domestic affairs. Occasionally, Richard had as¬ 
serted himself, as in the instance, concerning Argus; but for 
the most part, Eleanor had had her own way, — having 
reigned, during this period of years, as the feminine monarch 
in her own household. As matters now were, she did not 
know, exactly, where she stood. 

In this confused state of mind, she was trying to get 
her bearings again, to work herself out of her perplexity, — 
to solve the greatest problem which had ever come into her 
life. 

As she was thus engrossed with all her mental faculties, 
she turned her attention to the reading of all kinds of 
philosophies, so-called progressive creeds and isms, with the 
hope of finding not only a solution of the grave matter which 
confronted her, but a soothing consolation for the grieved 
spirit which almost overpowered her. She resolved that she 

[ 287 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


would prove herself bigger than her problem. She deter¬ 
mined that she would find some way of re-engaging her 
husband’s former interest. 

One afternoon, when she was almost engulfed by her 
depressed spirits, she seized upon a volume of philosophical 
literature and opened it, hap-hazard, to these paragraphs: 

“The sense man makes vows and promises to the flesh. 
Spiritual growth breaks these promises. The only true 
friendship, or love, is that which does not bind; makes no 
vows, knowing that a thing can not be held on to, if it 
would be kept. 

“As soon as we clutch our treasure tightly, it is crushed. 
We must allow our friends, and our loves, to go free; let 
them pass in and out of our lives, according to infinite 
Wisdom. If we would hold them, we must let them go. Our 
own can not be taken from us. If they are our own, they 
will come back some day, somewhere, for there is no time in 
Spirit. 

“If one seems a true friend today, and an adversary, 
tomorrow, do not censure, or try to renew the smoldering 
flames of the old friendship, but only smile and say: ‘It is all 
a part of the Divine plan in his life and in mine. I am cut 
loose from a certain bondage, and through him, — his word, 
his prayer, his suggestion, I am now free. Therefore, I need 
him no more. I must learn the great lesson of detachment.’ 

“But who knows? Who can say that this is the end of 
the friendship ? There is no end to anything that is of God, 
and so, when the flesh has evolved into Spirit, and we see, as 
God, the All-Perfect sees, we shall again meet our friend, 
standing in the white light of that perfection. Then we, 
being also perfected, and seeing with the clear eyes of spirit, 
will know that our own can not be taken from us. 


[ 288 ] 


Eleanor Tries to Win Bach Richard’s Affections 


“We, too, shall be on the topmost round of the ladder, 
whose rungs are the olden friendships, ties, and loves, which 
have lifted us out of the darkness, until we stand on the last 
rung, which is Sinai, face to face with God. 

“Then we can look down the steps of the ladder, and 
know that nothing of friendship and love is ever lost.” 


[ 289 ] 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Maxine in France 

“r I THEY are bombarding Paris with long range guns, at a 
1 distance of seventy-five miles.” This was the alarming 
piece of news, which Captain Wells announced to Maxine, 
when he went to meet her, at the steamer Aquitania, at 
Bordeaux. 

Both Richard and Senator Wainwright had cabled to 
General Dimock, to send an aide to escort her, from Bordeaux 
to Paris. 

“The Allies are just beginning to wake up, to what a real 
German victory would mean to them. They understand bet¬ 
ter what the awful consequences would be, since the atrocious 
peace of Brest Litovsk was made. There are some American 
troops in the lines, but the bulk of the American army is in 
the United States. The attack upon the British in the Somme 
region has proven to be a tremendous disaster; and the Brit¬ 
ish army has been driven back in such disorder, as no British 
army has ever known before. The unwarranted losses of 
thousands of guns, and scores of thousands of prisoners, 
were due to the utter incompetence of many of the higher 
British officers. About one hundred tanks were abandoned, 
because they ran out of petrol. 

“Fresh troops from America will soon be pouring into 
France, by the hundreds of thousands. I heard General 
Dimock say that you would be sent to address as many Amer- 

[ 290 ] 


Maxine in France 


icans as possible in the first army sectors.” Such was the 
information which Captain Wells communicated to Maxine, 
on their journey to Paris, where she was to report first, for 
her assignment to duty. 

The young captain was a well-groomed, good-natured, 
energetic officer, who took his responsibilities as seriously 
as any American, who had just arrived in France, could 
possibly do. 

The Paris, which soon revealed itself to Maxine’s eyes, 
was very different from the gay, exuberant, French capital, 
with all of its emotion and vivacity, which she had visited 
just before the world war broke out. Now, it was a sad, 
grave, somber Paris, with an atmosphere of solemnity settled 
over it,—so depressing in its effects that even the gray, gloomy 
clouds, which hovered in great, nebulous masses over the city, 
were in appropriate keeping with the serious, solemn mood 
of all of the inhabitants,—both civil and military, who dwelt 
in, or were drawn to, Paris, at that time. 

When she presented herself at General Dimock’s office, 
he received her most cordially, but informed her that it would 
be some time before he would be able to arrange an appoint¬ 
ment for her with General Pershing, who was now occupied 
with organization duties in a section quite remote from 
Paris. Meanwhile, the General assured her that he, and his 
subordinates, would take matters into their own hands, and 
make such arrangements as would bring her into touch with 
the American troops. 

There was a cablegram waiting for her at the Grand 
Hotel. 

It read: 

4 ‘My constant thoughts are with you. What I 

have lost the boys in France have gained. I know 

[ 291 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


that your presence there will be a blessing to all 
with whom you come in contact as your life is a 
continual benediction wherever you go. 

“Richard.” 

Maxine wrote him at much length, acknowledging with 
gratitude his treasured remembrance, which she had found 
in the package, which he presented to her on shipboard. She 
spoke in happy reminiscent terms, of the time which they 
had spent together,— so ideally, and concluded by telling 
him, that every letter which she received from him would be 
such an inspiration to her, that the efficiency of her work 
in the army would be doubled and trebled. 

Maxine adapted herself to the new environment, in which 
she found herself, with an ease and grace which had character¬ 
ized her whole life. She took all hardships as privileges 
accorded to her, for the opportunity of service. She met 
every situation, whole-heartedly, and her enthusiasm for her 
work soon communicated itself to the other civilian attaches 
of social service organizations appendaged to the army; and 
began, likewise, to express itself in the spirit of the service 
of the soldiers, as they proceeded from their headquarters 
toward their front line duties. 

Maxine, from the date of her arrival in France, had 
taken her work very seriously. She felt, keenly, her responsi¬ 
bility, and worked with unabated zeal, earnestness and de¬ 
votion. She understood definitely the purpose for which she 
had come to France. There was no slacker blood in her 
veins. 

She spent none of her valuable time courting the favor 
of officers, only so far as it was necessary, in order that she 
might gain better vantage points, and avenues of access, to 
the needs of the private soldiers. 

[ 292 ] 


Maxine in France 


Her letter of introduction to General Pershing brought 
her a White Pass, issued upon his authority. This obviated 
the necessity of much military red-tape, and minimized the 
delays and inconveniences, to which many civilian war-work¬ 
ers were necessarily subjected. 

She made her first appearance before the soldiers in the 
automatic weapon schools at Gondrecourt and Langres. The 
spontaneous outburst of applause, which greeted her first 
utterances, exceeded that which had been accorded to her 
in the camps back home. Her success was triumphant,— 
phenomenal,— and her popularity in the army won for her, 
the appellation of the Soldiers’ Sweetheart, while still other 
endearing epithets applied to her were Sister, Comrade, Bud¬ 
dy, and Pal. 

During her first eight weeks in the army, she had given 
little thought to herself, or her personal affairs, beyond the 
necessity of keeping her health in such condition, as would 
assure her the privilege of uninterrupted service. The call 
to duty was too urgent; the needs of the time were too great, 
to esteem one’s individual matters to be of any great moment. 
She had devoted herself, assiduously, to the men in the ranks. 

The message which she brought to the troops was essen¬ 
tially this: 

“A young man, who was just starting in business, ad¬ 
dressed this inquiry to the editor of the New York Sun: 
‘Can a young man, living in the City of New York, who 
earns only ten dollars a week, lead a good, Christian life?’ 
And the editor of the Sun, having a very keen sense of 
humor, answered: ‘A young man, living in the City of 
New York, and earning only ten dollars a week, can’t lead 
anything else but a good, Christian life. ’ 

“I suppose you boys think that a private soldier in the 

[ 293 ] 


A Warning to Wives 




American Expeditionary Forces, who receives only thirty or 
thirty-three dollars a month, can’t do anything else in France, 
but lead a good, Christian life. 

“After all, if we go from the humorous to the serious, 
I’m sure that we will all agree that we are here for a very 
earnest reason, and an exceedingly, important purpose. 

“The object of all sane, and efficient government, is to 
secure the greatest good for the greatest number,— and to 
give to the individual, the highest degree of liberty, com¬ 
patible with public welfare. 

“There are two contrasting and conflicting ideals rep¬ 
resented by the Allies and the Central Powers in this war. 
The ideal of the Central Powers is to establish, for all time, 
an Imperial Pan-Germanic state, which shall rule the world 
through the processes of absolutism,—sacrificing individuals 
entirely to the interests of the Central Government. This 
system is very dangerous, full of impending and hazardous 
evils, because it destroys initiative, fosters subserviency, and 
perpetuates Imperialism. If this pernicious system of autoc¬ 
racy should gain control of the world, and maintain a place 
of ascendency, through future history, the opportunities for 
progress and advancement for each and all of us, would be so 
largely diminished, that future generations,—that is, the great 
masses of people, would be so circumscribed in their individ¬ 
ual activities, that there would be very little stimulus to 
individual, constructive action. The incentive for personal 
achievement would be largely lacking, except to those who 
occupied superior places of power. 

“The ideal of the Allied Governments, now supported 
and reinforced by the United States, is to maintain and 
perpetuate the influences of nationalism, but not Pan-Im¬ 
perialism, or Pan-Hellenism. The institution of competitive 

[ 294 ] 


Maxi/ne in France 


nationalism must survive for a long time yet, in order to 
insure economic progress. Internationalism is something 
which we may look forward to, ultimately,— possibly,— but 
in a modified form, which shall not destroy nationalism. 

“But at the moment, we have no deep concern with inter¬ 
nationalism, other than that it is a beautiful ideal, some¬ 
thing to contemplate,— to look forward to,— to save us now 
from too much indulgence in a spirit of discord among those 
allied nations, which are fighting for, and representing the 
same ideals. 

“The Allies, then, are concerned most deeply, with the 
preservation and perpetuation of the ideal of nationalism; 
based upon the doctrine that the development and progress 
of the individual consults the highest interest of the nation; 
— that, strong nations always represent a combination of 
virile, progressive individuals and that the strength of the 
nation is in direct proportion to the intelligence and de¬ 
velopment of the individuals who constitute it. 

“This, then, is the ideal which we have been sent here to 
cherish, represent, and fight for. At least, you have been 
sent to fight for it, and no matter what the cost, I know that 
you each feel, within yourselves, that the sacrifice, which you 
have been called upon to make, is worthy of your service. 

“ Before I left home, I met a woman who had received 
the tragic news of her son’s falling, during the very first 
week, when the American troops were sent into the lines. 
This word came to her, after the first American casualties. 
She told me, while she repressed the tears, which she exercised 
the utmost self-control to restrain, that she had no other 
reason, except to feel proud and grateful, that she had been 
able to make such a vital contribution to the cause of human¬ 
ity. 


[ 295 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


“ After all, the conquest of fear, at this time, is the 
most important thing for all of us. It is within our power 
to commune, quietly, with ourselves. When we do this, the 
thoughts which enter our consciousness are soothing and 
satisfying. We know, then, that no great evil can beset us; 
—that there is nothing which can harm, or destroy the inner, 
immortal man. We know, then, that we are bigger than cir¬ 
cumstances; that we are superior to our environments,— 
that we are the masters of ourselves, and of our fates. Thus, 
we school ourselves to the Great Lesson of detachment, from 
material wordly things, and attachment to Divine, eternal 
things. 

“We must know that ‘God is in his Heaven; all is well 
with the world.’ 

“We must, at all times, be ‘Soothed and sustained by 
an unfaltering trust.’ 

“If we are called upon to make the Supreme Sacrifice, 
we must know that it is because our power for Good is to be 
accentuated, enhanced and multiplied in volume. 

“We must believe, so strongly and so earnestly, in the 
ideals of our own country, that we shall be willing to meet 
any test, and make any sacrifice that we may be able to apply 
and express them. 

“I am reminded of the story of three Americans, who 
were once in Paris, on the Fourth of July, and since there 
were no national festivities in Paris, on that date, a party 
of gallant, distinguished Frenchmen gave a banquet, in honor 
of these visiting Americans. The oldest member of the Amer¬ 
ican party was a man well on in years, with much experience 
in official and diplomatic life. He was called upon to respond 
to a toast, when he said: ‘Here’s to the health of the United 
States, bounded on the North by the Dominion of Canada, 

[ 296 ] 


Maxine in France 


on the East by the Atlantic Ocean,— on the South by Mexico 
and the Gulf of Mexico, and on the West by the Pacific 
Ocean.’ He retired, amidst enthusiastic applause. 

“The second member of the party, was a man of middle 
age, whose prestige was well-assured in international circles. 
He followed the first speaker, saying: ‘Here’s to the health 
of the United States, bounded on the North by the North 
Pole, on the East by the Continent of Europe, on the South 
by the South Pole, and on the West by the Continent of Asia.’ 
He received vociferous cheers. 

“The third member of the party, was a young, unsophis¬ 
ticated man, who was serving as private secretary to the 
delegation of American visitors. He was rather self-con¬ 
scious and embarrassed, when he was called upon to make a 
speech, in the presence of so many prominent men. As soon 
as he could compose himself and summon his powers of 
expression, he said: ‘I have always been considered a very 
modest man, but I think I can go you one better. Here’s 
to the health of the United States, bounded on the North by 
the Aurora Borealis; on the East by the Rising Sun; on the 
South by the Vernal Equinox, and on the West by the Day 
of Judgment.’ 

“And the young man was right. The United States of 
America knows no bounds. America, and the spirit of Amer¬ 
ica, penetrate, in some way, and in some degree, to every 
corner of the world. And when I speak of the spirit of 
America, I do not mean a spirit of conquest, or aggression, 
of imperialism, but the spirit of an inner development, which 
shall be, both internal and external, and which shall con¬ 
tribute to the end that the United States of America shall 
become, and remain, the ranking nation in the world’s trade. 
As patriotic Americans, we must all be interested in the 

[ 297 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


economic supremacy of the United States. We must, in 
future, capture our share of the trade of the world, and when 
this war is over, we must dedicate our best efforts to winning 
these prizes of foreign trade. We must never lose conscious¬ 
ness of the fact that we are Americans. That fact must tell, 
in every American industry, enterprise, and achievement. 

“The slogan ‘Made in the United States’ must be made 
to stand for efficiency, and service, and progress. Progress 
is greater than efficiency. If we put the spirit of creative 
progress into all that we do, American products will find 
their way into broader, foreign markets, and in this way, we 
shall contribute, not only to the standards of national prog¬ 
ress, but to those of universal progress. 

“We are here for action, whether it be in peace or war. 
We are not here to take life easily. 

“You know that there is a passage in Sanskrit literature, 
which says: ‘Listen to the exaltation of the dawn; look to 
this day; for it is life,— the very life of life. In its brief 
course, lie all the varieties and realities of your existence;— 
the bliss of growth; the glory of action; the splendor of 
beauty ;■— for yesterday is but a dream, and tomorrow is only 
a vision, and today, well lived, makes every yesterday, a dream 
of happiness, and every tomorrow, a vision of hope. Look 
well, therefore, to this day. Such is the Salutation of the 
Dawn. ’ 

“This war will bring to you all, experiences, which will 
either bring out the best that there is in you, or the worst 
that there is in you. War intensifies, both the good and the 
evil, in human nature. All the tests will not be met upon 
the battle-field. On the contrary, many of them will be met 
in your private relationships. I understand that Distinguished 
Service Crosses and Medals are awarded for bravery in 

[ 298 ] 


Maxine in France 


action, in going beyond the call of duty, and for conspicuous 
service, rendered voluntarily, in the face of extreme danger. 
I believe, however, that any young man, who passes through 
the Boulevard Italiens, and comes away unscathed, is de¬ 
serving of a Distinguished Service Cross. 

“In closing, I can only commend you, to your higher 
selves, which constitute a fundamental part of the Supreme 
Good, which rules over the Universe. 

“The world wants men, large-hearted, manly men;— 
men who will join in the chorus and prolong the psalm of 
labor and of love; the age wants heroes,— heroes who shall 
dare to struggle in the solid ranks of truth,— to bear opinion 
to a loftier seat, to blot out the error of oppression, and lead 
in a world of universal freedom.” 

Such a vital, inspirational address could only bring the 
hearty demonstrations of applause and appreciation, which it 
deserved. 

Maxine had received several letters from Richard, but 
often times, the tardiness of the mails deprived her of her 
letters until they were long over-due, thus interrupting the 
regularity of their correspondence, but the continuity of their 
interest in each other, remained unbroken. Richard’s letters 
all emphasized that she was more fortunate than he,—in 
that Maxine had transferred her whole field of endeavor to 
an entirely, new atmosphere, where it would be necessary for 
her to adopt a complete change of mental action; while he 
was obliged to continue, in the old routine, which governed 
his life in her absence. He would, he said, inevitably, miss 
her, more than she would have time to miss him. He was 
endeavoring to put his business affairs in such order that he 
could leave his personal matters in competent hands, in the 
event, that he should be so fortunate as to secure the com- 

[ 299 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


mission, which he was seeking in the army. There seemed to 
be some hesitancy, on the part of those in authority, con¬ 
cerning the expediency and practicability of Richard’s con¬ 
templated resignation from the post, which he now occupied. 
It was his business to negotiate numerous contracts for sup¬ 
plies and equipment, necessary for the conduct of the war, 
and it was not an easy matter to find a man capable of, and 
willing to take his place. 

Richard went on to say that he would keep Maxine ad¬ 
vised of all his plans,— to the last detail. He was still spend¬ 
ing his time in New York and Washington,— where he saw 
Eleanor very seldom, and whenever he was at the Fairchild 
home, it was for visits of brief duration, and when there, 
he spent his evenings reading about the activities in France, 
actuated, not only by patriotic interest, but by a desire to 
translate himself, so far as possible, into the places where, 
— and circumstances under which, Maxine lived and worked. 

Maxine’s letters to Richard were filled with descriptions 
of the events which preceded and followed the military action 
in the Lys Valley, Aisne, the second battle of the Marne, 
and Chateau-Thierry. Always, too, they were mentally stimu¬ 
lating, intellectually refreshing; and spiritually invigorating. 
They never lacked sentiment either. 

The value and merit of Maxine’s work with the army was 
not under-estimated by the highest military authorities, from 
whom she won recognition and distinction. She was awarded 
a Distinguished Service Cross for her exceptional work in 
inspiring courage and bravery among the men; and in creat¬ 
ing a spirit of unity, harmony, loyalty and determination 
to fight, to the end, for the good name and welfare of the 
United States. 

Thus far, Maxine had played no favorites among any 
[ 300 ] 


Maxine in France 


of her “boys,” as she called them; although, many of the 
soldiers had been to talk with her, individually; and had gone 
away with the feeling that she was very close to them in her 
sympathies; very near to their own, personal heart-aches and 
tragedies. 

She listened always, with sympathetic ear, to the story of 
the boy, whose sweetheart back in the States, had forgotten 
him for another, during his absence, while he was fighting 
for the very girl who had proven herself utterly unworthy of 
him. 

She heard with patience, the tale of the blue-eyed soldier, 
whose mother had died, since he had left home to serve his 
country, and whose last memory was the sweet face of his 
mother, as she kissed him good-bye, and hade him to go forth, 
valiantly, to save, not only his own fellow-countrymen, but 
his brothers across the sea. 

She sustained the lad, who had just received the news 
that his brother had fallen in action, by telling him that the 
disembodied spirit of his Pal would be with him on the 
battle-field, to help him to fight with an unprecedented valor. 

She spoke words of cheer to the brave heart of the young 
sergeant, who had been wounded, but who had recovered, 
sufficiently, to be ready and willing to go back to the lines 
to stand again in the face of danger and peril. 

She went to the hospitals, where she comforted the dying 
and wounded, with her message of hope for the future, and 
gratitude, that such as they had been sent to defend their 
country. There were times when she took the dying in her 
arms and went with them so far, in spirit and soul, that the 
illumination of the radiant light of Heaven spread over her 
countenance; and the brilliant emanations of an Overpower¬ 
ed] 


A Warning to Wives 


ing Divinity almost drew her, with irrepellent force, into the 
Kingdom of God, itself. 

Many boys, who knew her, had sent for her, after they 
had been removed to the hospitals and were about to be 
overtaken by death and again she would go with them right 
up to the door of the Grim Master, as if to challenge the 
thought that there was such a thing in the Universe as Death; 
and welcoming the process of transition, as a re-birth into a 
larger life of Growth and Action and Beauty and Peace and 
Love. 

But, thus far, her heart had never gone out to one boy 
more than to another. All were alike to her,— brothers 
united;—each one a tremendous factor in repelling an all- 
invading,— deadly foe,— a common enemy of mankind,— a 
parasite, which had fastened its tentacles of confusion and 
destruction and murder and slaughter, like a huge octopus, 
around the bodies and hearts and souls of men, in these 
awful, trying days, when the world was torn asunder by that 
unprecedented, bewildering upheaval of a universally, war- 
tormented population. 

Maxine had become so absorbingly interested in her 
work, of late, that she had, sometimes, found it difficult to 
write such lengthy letters to Richard, as she had written, dur¬ 
ing the first few months, after her arrival. Then, too, the 
thought often passed through her mind, that her life with 
Richard could probably never be. A permanent alliance be¬ 
tween them had seemed hopeless to her, from the very first, 
and her absence from the United States had, by this time, 
confirmed her original impressions of doubt, as to the ethics 
of building her own happiness on the foundation of some 
one’s else misery. 

And yet, Maxine knew that there was a duty which she 


Maxine in Frcmce 


owed to herself. She did not want to forego her innate right 
to a home and happiness with the man whom she loved. She 
did not believe she could ever love another, as she had and did 
love Richard Radcliffe. She became increasingly certain, 
from day to day, in spite of her absence from him, that her 
heart belonged to him. 

There were times, even since she had been in France, 
when it had been necessary for her to summon, to her rescue, 
all the moral force of all the generations of all the Marlings, in 
order to withstand a mental surrender to the course of action 
which Richard Radcliffe had urged upon her, and which 
would have made him a free man. When such moments came 
to her, she always prayed for light and guidance, and acquit¬ 
ted herself with the grace of conduct and moral stamina, 
which she so sincerely advocated to others. 

“Your message vibrates with so much sincerity that it 
is electrical in its effects,’’ was the comment which General 
Dimock had made to Maxine, when he had first heard her 
address the troops. 

Brigadier-General Swanson had been so magnetized by 
her speech, and womanly behavior, that he wanted to know 
her better. Maxine had consented to dine with him, several 
times, but when he began to urge his attentions upon her, 
and pour out, effusively, the expressions of his enamored 
spirit, she declined to spend any more time with him. 

She had resolved, that in any event, she would not com¬ 
promise her soul, by marrying without love. Her reflections 
always carried her back to Richard, and she would ask her¬ 
self the question: “Is it right for me to relinquish my birth¬ 
right to marriage and motherhood?” 

In her service to others, she had come into a complete 
understanding of the joys of vicarious motherhood, but she 

[ 303 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


feared that this would not satisfy her, for all time. Still, 
there was another way of looking at the matter. Once, after 
she had been deliberating on the subject, she had chanced to 
pick up a volume of Famous Orations, containing some of 
the finest examples of repartee in the English language. She 
read the story of one of the note-worthy retorts of John Ran¬ 
dolph, the renowned United States Senator from Virginia. 
One of Randolph’s political foes was striving to humiliate 
him by innuendo and made this statement: “There are cer¬ 
tain hybrids, incapable of perpetuating their own species and 
I am informed that there are also some men—” Before Ran¬ 
dolph’s antagonist could finish his remarks, John Randolph 
arose to the Question of Personal Privilege and said: “I am 
aware that there are certain hybrids, incapable of perpetu¬ 
ating their own species and there may be some men — I do 
not know whether it is a virtue or a vice, but I thank God 
that I am not one of those men who wastes his time boasting 
of an accomplishment of which every dog is his equal and 
every jack-ass his superior.” 

Maxine smiled, as she read this clever bit of Senatorial 
wit, and then she reflected upon the lines: “I do not know 
whether it is a virtue or a vice.” 

“After all, it requires some degree of conceit and not 
a little egotism, to have the desire to perpetuate our earthly 
selves and to esteem ourselves worthy of perpetuation,” she 
thought. 

“It would hardly do, though, to express such a sentiment, 
in conventional society. It would be resented by those, whose 
greatest pride was constituted in their heirs,” she cogitated. 

She knew she would not want to see a son of her own 
endure the suffering and agony which had been the portion 

[ 304 ] 


Maxine in France 


of many heroic sons of the war. And, yet if there were to be 
future wars, she would not want to feel that she had not done 
her part toward furnishing man-power to sustain and defend 
her own country; perpetuate its nationalism; and emblazon 
its standards on civilization. Then, too, with “the rising tide 
of color, ” she would want to do all in her power to assure 
the permanent Supremacy of the White Race. Thus she 
pondered, and, always, in these brown studies, her thoughts 
went back to Richard. She wondered what he would say 
about all the subjects of her meditations. 

All her life, she had associated with many; she had 
fraternized with a few; she had affinitized, in spirit, with 
only one. Was there, any where in the world, another, 
who would respond to her soul-call as Richard Radcliffe had 
done? Maxine doubted it. 

Still, of course, there had been instances, of which she 
had both read and heard, where a Great Love had laid hold 
of an inviolate soul; fed it with the energy of an ardent 
spirit; sustained it by the devotion of a loyal heart, and re¬ 
assured it, by an untiring patience, worthy of a saint;— only 
to be supplanted, in the end, by a greater love, which sooth¬ 
ingly nourished, and caressingly absorbed the object of its 
infinite passion. 

In all of Maxine’s experiences in France, she had been 
very mindful of conducting herself in such a manner, that 
there could be no jealousy of her favors. Thus she had 
maintained her popularity, and had not impaired the effi¬ 
ciency of her work. If she had been, for an instant, attracted 
to one young man, more than to another, she had always im¬ 
mediately dismissed the thought, and set resolutely about 
her tasks. 

One night, when she had been sent to speak to the 
[ 305 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


surviving members of the 101st and 102nd regiments, and 
the 362nd infantry, which had fought at Chateau-Thierry, 
she was detained for a moment, by a young, manly soldier, 
who wished to speak -with her. 

* ‘ Is it the bars and oak-leaves and eagles and stars which 
determine the degree of one’s patriotism, and the value of 
one’s services to his country; or is it that which is inside 
of the man,— the thing which he does practically lay to heart, 
concerning his duty and obligation to his country?” inquired 
the serious, blue-eyed, “buck” private. 

“Don’t take it so seriously,” smilingly answered Maxine. 
“You know that Carlyle says: ‘But the thing a man does 
practically believe (and this is often enough without assert¬ 
ing it even to himself, much less to others); the thing a man 
does lay to heart, and know for certain, concerning his vital 
relations to this mysterious Universe and his duty and destiny 
here, that is in all cases the primary thing for him and 
creatively determines all the rest. That is his religion; or 
it may be his mere scepticism and no-religion: the manner 
iT is in which he feels himself to be spiritually related to 
the Unseen World or No-World; and I say if you tell me 
what that is, you tell me to a very great extent what the 
man is, what the kind of thing he will do is. 

“You asked me what it is which determines a man’s 
patriotism, and I have answered you in the words of Carlyle, 
because a man’s patriotism can never be divorced from his 
religion,” concluded Maxine. 

The young soldier listened attentively. Maxine’s words 
had taken hold of him. 

She continued: “You know the common expression ‘It’s 
a great life if you don’t weaken.’ Well, I prefer to omit the 

[ 306 ] 


Maxine in France 


first ‘e’ in the word weaken, so that the epigram shall read: 
It’s a great life if you don’t waken!” 

The nervous, tense expression of the private’s face, 
softened into a smile, and then he laughed. 

“I like your philosophy,” he remarked. “It is very 
cheerful and wholesome. If you would not consider it pre¬ 
suming, on my part, I would like to have the privilege of 
talking with you, privately, sometime,” he suggested. 

“It’s not at all presuming. If you can come around 
to the Hostess House, in about a half hour, I will be glad to 
see you,” said Maxine. 

“I’ll be there,” answered the “buck” private, and then 
he strolled leisurely away. 


[ 307 ] 


CHAPTER XIV 


Henry Strong 

H E WAS a Texan by birth and spirit; and Texanic he 
was in speech, manner and character; tall and angular, 
with firm, straight, black hair, deep blue-gray eyes; rather 
high cheek-bones, and prominent forehead. 

There is an individuality to be remarked about these 
Lone Star Staters. They have breathed the air of a larger, 
more expanded freedom, than those who live in more thickly 
settled, densely populated regions. They are frank and 
natural. Without affectation, — they speak their minds 
freely, and have not, in their make-up, the unreliable ele¬ 
ments, which sometimes characterize more urbane and sophis¬ 
ticated folks. Withal, they are human, and devoid, to a 
great degree, of the cynical attitude so apparent in many 
cosmopolitan characters. 

“It is very good of you, Miss Marling, to permit me to 
come to have this little talk with you. 

“When you began your talk to the boys, I was com¬ 
pletely out of tune with the world, and only a mention of 
something about home, could have interested me. When you 
were talking about the great untapped resources of the 
United States, you spoke of the State of Texas, — Corpus 

[ 308 ] 


Henry Strong 

Christi, and the land of pecans, bananas, and sweet potatoes. 
Then I listened. 

“Yon see, I enlisted only six days after the United States 
entered the war. I was just starting on my second year of 
newspaper work on a Waco paper, — so, you see, I gave up a 
good position, that I might respond to the country’s call. It 
is true that the love of adventure counted somewhat in in¬ 
fluencing me to make my decision, but for the most part, I 
was actuated by a desire to be among the first to volunteer 
service. I was rushed away to a Northern Camp, where I 
had only a few weeks’ training, before I was sent Over-Seas. 

“Before I left home, I was informed by an influential 
friend of my family, that he would secure a commission for 
me, if I wanted him to do so. I was not friendly to the 
idea; in fact, I had made up my mind, that if I could not 
secure a commission and win promotion, on the basis of 
service, efficiency and an all-around meritorious record, that 
I would not be pushed forward on account of the influence, 
social standing, or prestige of my family. 

“I was full of ‘pep,’ — just brimming over with energy 
and fervid patriotism, believing that if I did my whole duty, 
I would win recognition. 

“You observe my present status. I have served under 
officers whose commands have nearly always been preceded, 
or accompanied by emphatic profanity. I have tried, again 
and again, for the officers’ training camp in France, but 
without success. I am beginning to believe that there must 
be something wrong with me, — almost losing confidence in 
myself. Perhaps I should not let my ambition to win recog¬ 
nition play such an important part, but in any event, my 
pride is wounded, and incidentally, to some degree, my self- 
respect,” concluded young Strong, while Maxine observed 

[ 309 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


two service stripes and two wound stripes on the sleeves of 
the Texan’s somewhat shabby and ill-fitting uniform. 

“No, you haven’t lost your self-respect. I shall have to 
take issue with you there. No man, who has done his best, 
can ever lose his self-respect. No matter whether or not you 
win promotion, the mental discipline which you are getting, 
and the association with all sorts and conditions of men, will 
serve you in good stead, later. Every experience is worth 
something, if we only make it so; and, we can always 
capitalize, to good advantage, every trial of our lives, if we 
will only hold out, — keep up our courage, and continue to be 
awake, and alive to our opportunities.” 

“I hope that is true,” said young Strong, rather de¬ 
jectedly, — while he felt his hopes rising within him, in spite 
of his mental depression. Then he continued: “As I told 
you, it has fallen to my lot, to serve under very coarse¬ 
grained officers,—but I would not mind that so much, if I 
believed that they played fair. My present Captain, before 
he entered the army, drove an ice-wagon in Alpena, Michi¬ 
gan. He seems to resent the fact that some of the boys in the 
company have had educational opportunities, which he has 
lacked; and so, he discriminates against all of us, who have 
had more schooling than he. He is a comparatively ignorant 
man, without even the elemental rudiments of learning, or 
refinements of life. He flies into a rage over the merest 
trifle, and without the least provocation, he hurls verbal 
barrages at us boys, which would make the ordinary sailor’s 
vocabulary look like that fractional denomination of United 
States currency, vulgarly styled thirty cents. 

“I am not whining. I am simply protesting, because I 
believe that American ofificership should stand for efficiency 
and democracy, ’ ’ said the soldier, emphatically. 

[ 310 ] 


Henry Strong 


“Of course, it should. Your predicament is just one of 
those numerous, unfortunate, trying situations, not uncommon 
in the army, where a man of well-built, well-poised physique, 
— with a strong, mental equipment, which corresponds with 
his physical appearance, has been overlooked by the military 
authorities. There isn’t the least bit of reason for you to be 
down-hearted, — so just brace up and know that even if you 
never win a commission in the army, you will always be a 
bigger man and a better man, for having had this experience. 
Really, you know, you should pity the Captain, who is so 
puffed up, in his own conceit. Why, a cambric needle would 
burst him all to pieces. He reminds me of the story, which 
I heard an old officer of the Civil War tell, at Camp Upton, 
just before I left New York. It seems that he was made a 
Captain, when he was only nineteen, and when he returned 
home, after the war, the dear old Mayor of the town, 
arranged a reception in his honor. The Mayor made a speech, 
introducing the young officer to the audience, and among 
other fulsome and exaggerated introductory remarks, he 
said: ‘ Imagine this young officer, marching in front of his 
men, — leading his troops into battle, and when the point of 
imminent danger was reached, he turned to his boys and 
shouted: “Come on! Come on!” ’ 

“This old Civil War Captain went on to say: ‘Wasn’t it 
absurd? Didn’t the dear old Mayor of the town know that 
the first command which precedes a battle is “Officers to the 
rear! ” And the higher up the rank of the officer, the farther 
to the rear he gets. Did he think that I would be so stupid 
as to march ahead of my men to be shot in front by the 
enemy, and in the back by my own men?’ 

“It was all very amusing to hear this old veteran tell 
his story, and there was much truth in what he said. What 

[ 311 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


is your next move?” queried Maxine, of the young private. 

“We go hack into action tomorrow. I am going to try 
to believe that your optimistic view of life is well sustained 
by human experience, and that all you have said in your 
philosophizing with me, is true,” answered Strong, indicat¬ 
ing by the tone of his voice, that his spirits were taking on a 
color of hope and animation. 

“I know that your ideals and faith in the final triumph 
of Justice will carry you through whatever test or trial you 
may be called upon to meet. 

“I have headquarters, which I maintain permanently 
back in Paris at the Grand Hotel, where I go, occasionally, 
to rest for a week-end, and refresh my body and soul, from 
my work in the field. 

“When you come out of the lines again, if you have any 
chance to get to Paris, please look me up, if no more than to 
tell me that you are in tune with the world once more, and 
that all is well with you. Never lose consciousness of the 
fact that you have within you, the resources and power to 
command life, until it is just as you would have it. Never 
let trying situations over-power you, or command you. It is 
within you to attain the mastery of circumstance, because 
you are bigger than any circumstance, which may encompass 
you. So long as you assert yourself, with all the strength 
and power of your being, you can not lose ground; — you 
will maintain your identity until you can express the best 
that there is in you, in all its fullness and power. 

“A young man, of your character, can not lose out any¬ 
where. I do want to hear from you and to see you again, — 
very much, indeed,” exclaimed Maxine, with her usual sin¬ 
cerity and enthusiasm. 

“I shall remember all that you have said. I shall surely 
[ 312 ] 


Henry Strong 


see you again, if Heaven grants me safety and immunity 
from the dangers and ravages of battle,” replied Strong, 
while he grasped Maxine’s hand very closely. 

“Prom this moment, I know that you will be safe. Hold 
the thought, tenaciously, that you are free from danger, and 
you will be triumphant, in the face of danger. Then, there is 
not anything in the world, which can harm you,” said 
Maxine, while she looked confidently into the clear, grave 
eyes of the soldier. 

“Good-night, and thank you. Whenever I am in danger, 
remember that I shall see your face,—your eyes, your smile, 
and I shall hear, over and over again, your words of encour¬ 
agement and inspiration.” 

The Meuse-Argonne drive followed, and those were de¬ 
pressing, dreary days of rain and sleet; and mud and slime; 
hut with enough action to quicken the hearts of the men. 
There were those who cursed the days when they were horn. 
There were others who resigned themselves, passively, to 
their fate. There were many who welcomed action in prefer¬ 
ence to the monotonous inactivity of the training camps. 
There were some who felt that they were a part of a great, 
formidable, irresistible, conquering machine, which inevit¬ 
ably and forever, must put a stop to the Kaiser and Prus- 
sianism, and stem the tide of militarism. 

It was just after the Battle of St. Mihiel, when Maxine 
had been sent to address some of the United States troops, 
who had participated in every important engagement, since 
July 21st. She had talked with Henry Strong on the evening 
of September 19th, just before his division left for the 
Argonne. 

A few days later, toward the end of September, the 
[313] 


A Warning to Wives 


regiment in which Strong was fighting, had driven the first 
line back on the second; both on the third; and the men were 
dying by the hundreds. The line never faltered. Over the 
dead and wounded; over the breast-works and fallen foe; 
over cannon, belching forth their fires; the Americans had 
led the way to victory. 

Toward the end of the engagement, there was an order 
to retire, as replacements were coming up. Only a few days 
before, a new Lieutenant had assumed command of the sec¬ 
tion of the division, to which Henry Strong was attached. 
Altogether, the boys had pronounced Lieutenant Singleton 
the most human and the kindest of any officer who had had 
charge of them. When he knew that his men were exhausted, 
he interceded for an order which would enable them to retire 
until fresh troops could arrive, explaining to them that, after 
they had had time to recuperate, they would be called back. 

Strong, with another American, named Sturgess, entered 
a shell-hole. They were awe-stricken, amazed, and then 
calmly self-controlled, when they found themselves face to 
face with a Hun, who had, evidently, been obliged to seek 
shelter, after he had been sent on a scouting or sniping 
expedition for the Germans. The Hun glanced fiercely at 
Strong. Not knowing what was in the German’s mind, 
Strong’s first impulse was to kill his foe, but as his eyes met 
those of the German, Strong discerned a look of fear and 
hatred, mingled with indecision. He decided to control the 
situation, if possible, without violence, — by keeping his eyes, 
concentratedly, on the Hun’s movements. Then, if he de¬ 
tected anything which indicated that his foe was likely to 
turn antagonist, he would fire. But Sturgess, who was more 
impulsive than Strong, and fearing some quick, unexpected, 
fatal movement from the German, struck him, forcibly, be- 

[ 314 ] 


Henry Strong 


tween the eyes, with the butt of his rifle. The blow proved 
fatal to the Hun. Strong and Sturgess, who had barely re¬ 
covered from the eventful and exciting experiences of the 
past few days, breathed easily. 

After the incident was over, Strong took occasion to 
rejoice, within himself, that it was not he who had delivered 
the blow, which ended the German’s life. Killing enemies at 
a distance was one thing. Murdering them, as individuals, 
within easy reach, was another. 

Within thirty-six hours, Strong and Sturgess, were 
ordered back into the lines, where they took part in another 
engagement, which lasted for more than ten hours of con¬ 
tinuous firing, without relief. Finally, their unit was ordered 
to retire. 

As the soldiers marched down the road, making their way 
here and there, over entanglements of barbed wire, as they 
crossed the fields, the men were talking with Lieutenant 
Singleton, who was known among them as a good fellow, and 
who, just before the last skirmish, had told the boys that he 
remembered the last words which his mother had spoken to 
him in Philadelphia, just before he left home. 

“ ‘Whatever you do, be good to your men,’ she said to 
me. I hope that I have, at all times, acted upon her advice.” 

To which the boys, within hearing distance, all shouted: 

“Well, you have. You have certainly looked out for your 
men as has no other Lieutenant of whom we have heard.” 

Just then, a stray shell, by the roadside, exploded, with 
tremendous force, and the young Lieutenant fell. 

Immediately, his comrades rushed to his aid. 

“Bring the stretcher,” said one. 

Gasping for breath, Lieutenant Singleton exclaimed: 

[ 315 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


“It will do no good! The Huns have finished me this 
time!” 

And so they had. There were a few minutes of tense 
stillness, — then, a giving way, by a few of the boys, to the 
emotions which overpowered them ; but there was no time for 
prolonged lamentations. Halting the procession, for a little 
time, by order of the Captain, one could hear such expressions 
as: “Yes, he was clean, and white, and straight, through and 
through. That was one officer, who played square. We won’t 
get another one like him. They don’t make them every day. 
Why does he have to be taken, when so many brutes are left 
in command ? ’ ’ And so on, the boys commented, one by one. 

Two service stripes and one wound stripe were cut from 
Lieutenant Singleton’s sleeves, — letters taken from his 
pockets to be sent home, — and a funeral with full military 
honors, followed by the roadside near Romagne. With rever¬ 
ence, pity and tenderness, his ‘boys’ laid him away, in a 
secluded spot. All the attention to such little details as bank¬ 
ing up the grave, marking the spot and placing a flag over it, 
was paid to the memory of Lieutenant Singleton. Then, a 
final salute was given, and the soldiers marched on. 

Private Strong had been close enough to Lieutenant 
Singleton to get the bounding reaction of the shell explosion. 
Strong was removed to the nearest hospital. Complicating 
the evil effects resulting from this accident, were the weak¬ 
nesses which had attacked Strong, after his last confinement 
in the hospital, following the Chateau Thierry drive. 

As he lay on his cot, making very hard work of relaxing 
himself, according to the orders of the Red Cross Nurse, who 
attended him, he thought of Maxine Marling. Her words 
went through his mind, over and over again. He could hear 
her saying: 


[ 316 ] 


Henry Strong 

“I know that your ideals and faith in the final triumph 
of Justice will carry you through whatever test or trial you 
may be called upon to meet.Never lose con¬ 

sciousness of the fact that you have, within you, the resources 
and power to command life .... until it is just as you 
would have it. Never let trying situations command you. 

.You are bigger than circumstances, therefore, 

master them.A young man of your character can 

not lose out anywhere.” 

When the pain, which he felt, was so intense that his 
reason almost gave way, the thought came to him, — the last 
thought which Maxine had expressed: “I know that you will 
be safe. Hold the thought that you are free from danger, and 
you will rise above danger.’’ 

Then he pondered over the gravest questions of life. 
WTiat was the soul? What was life? Was it electricity, and 
when, for some reason, the current was broken, or the circuit 
interrupted, did it rest for only a brief period, until the wires 
could be connected, elsewhere, again? 

Strong remembered that his mother had told him, from 
his earliest school days, that the Kingdom of God was within 
himself. He had never realized so fully all that this meant, 
until he had talked with Maxine Marling, and she had aroused 
him, and inspired him so vigorously, as to the possibilities 
within himself. He would assert himself, just as she had told 
him to do. He would not succumb to this evil thing known 
as death. Did most people die because they suffered so much, 
either mentally or physically, that they lost the desire to live, 
and so, at last, gave up voluntarily, thus resigning themselves 
to the fate of being withdrawn from circulation? 

No, he would not release himself to the domination of this 
influence known as pain. He would deliver himself from it. 

[ 317 ] 





A Warning to Wives 


He would reflect many times more on the message which 
Maxine had so helpfully brought to him. He could see her 
face. He could hear her voice. He could feel the strength of 
her words. He could drown himself in a reverie of her charms. 
He could dwell, at length, upon the grave realities of life to be 
culminated by the triumph of the spirit, over all that was 
sordid and commonplace and evil. 

“She is a very remarkable woman. I must live to see her 
again. I will live to see her,” he thought to himself, while he 
moaned, occasionally, over the distress, which his internal 
tortures caused him. 

Several weeks went by. Strong began to improve. He 
felt within that he was almost himself once more. He was 
just about to be released to go back to duty. He contemplated 
this with much satisfaction. Action, any sort of action, was 
preferable to this deadly dullness. He would fight with re¬ 
newed valor and courage. He was stronger than he had ever 
been, — at least, he believed he was. He recalled the lines of 
Sir Galahad: 

“My strength is as the strength of ten, 

Because my heart is pure.” 

He was already for anything that might happen. He 
would give the best that there was in him to the glory of his 
Country. He would reflect credit upon his mother and the 
other members of his family. He was full of vim and hope; 
determination and resolution. He would conquer. He would 
achieve. He might, possibly, get to be an officer yet. 

Just as he was meditating upon all that was before him, 
the nurse came into the room. There was an expression of 
peace and satisfaction and joy upon her countenance. 

“I have the most wonderful news for you! The most 
joyful news! The Armistice has been signed! I heard several 

[ 318 ] 


Henry Strong 


days ago that this was going to happen, but I did not mention 
it to you, for fear of building up false hopes, in the event that 
the rumor was not well substantiated. Now you are free. You 
have no more turmoil and bloodshed to look forward to. You 
don’t look as happy about it as I thought you would,” con¬ 
cluded the sweet-faced, middle-aged lady. 

“No. I don’t know whether to be sorry or glad. Some 
way I feel that my career, as a soldier, has been cut short, 
before I had either the time, or the opportunity, to really 
1 make good ’ in the service of my Country. I had hoped to do 
bigger things; better things; nobler things,” said Strong, 
thoughtfully. 

“I don’t believe that you have any reason to regret that 
you haven’t done the very noblest things possible. I want you 
to tell me what it is that you keep in that little box, which you 
hide so carefully under your pillow every night, ’ ’ she insisted. 

Strong’s face flushed. It grew redder and redder. Then 
he composed himself, and said: “Why, that is, — that is,— 
well, I will get it and show it to you. ’ ’ 

He walked over to his knapsack and drew forth the 
mysterious box. “Open it and see for yourself,” he said. 

“Since you have urged me, I will do so,” remarked the 
nurse, while she raised the cover. 

“Well, of all things!” she exclaimed. “If it isn’t a 
Distinguished Service Cross, and you never even told me.” 
Then she read the citation which had been carefully kept 
in the same box. “Awarded to Henry Strong by the Com- 
mander-in-Chief of the American Expeditionary Forces for 
having gone beyond the call of Duty on an Expedition to 
repel and entrap a band of German snipers, who were slain 
by himself.” 

< * That, is wonderful; but I surmised, from the very begin- 
[319] 


A Warning to Wives 


ning, that you had done some big thing, because you have such 
unconquerable faith and infinite modesty/’ commented the 
nurse. 

“Well, I don’t like to talk about myself. But do you 
know what they are going to do with me now, since they can’t 
send me back to fight ? ’ ’ queried Strong, rather anxiously. 

“Yes, you are to be sent to Paris, because the Major, who 
has been your physician, insists that you must be where the 
most skilful American physicians can be consulted, until you 
are completely recovered, which, we think, will not be long,” 
she said, cheerfully, before she left the room, to bring young 
Strong his supper. 

“So, I’m going to Paris! I remember well, when the 
Germans were bombarding Paris from Claye. I was fortunate 
in being where I could help, in my small way, to repel that 
advance. 

“Paris! Well, that’s good! I shall see her there; my 
Dream Woman, — my dreams of her have sustained my fight¬ 
ing strength and courage, ever since I left her. She repre¬ 
sents my ideal of all that is best, and truest, and noblest, in 
womanhood. 

“No wonder that it is easy for her to carry her own 
burdens in life, because she bears so many burdens for others; 
that this gives her strength to carry her own. 

“She is a thoroughbred, all right. It has been well said 
that the cart horse goes until he can’t go another inch, and 
then gives up; that the thoroughbred goes until he can’t go 
another inch, r— and then goes the other inch. 

“She reminds me of something which I have read about 
Lincoln, when he said, that he wanted it said of him, by those 
who knew him best, that he always plucked a thistle and 
planted a flower, wherever he thought a flower would grow. 

[ 320 ] 


Henry Strong 


1 ‘Well, I shall see her soon, and I know that we shall have 
much to talk about,” Strong soliloquized, just as the nurse 
returned to the room, with his broth, hard bread, and dish of 
“gold fish.” 


[ 321 ] 


CHAPTER XV 


Getting Better Acquainted 


“ 0, YOU’VE had a lot of trouble finding me. Well, 



O! that’s too bad. They never gave me your message. 
How are you anyway?” Maxine inquired of Private Strong, 
just as they had seated themselves in the reading room of the 
Grand Hotel, on the Boulevard des Capucines. 

“I’m just fine, and it’s certainly a pleasure to see you 
again. After we have had a little chat, I want you to go to 
dinner with me,” suggested Strong. 

They went on talking for a few minutes, about some of 
the most exciting things, which had occurred, since that night 
when they first met, up in the Marne sector. 

“Let’s dine here,” said Strong. “This looks like a real, 
honest-to-God civilized place,” he exclaimed. 

“I would as lief go to the Saint Denis Canteen,” said 
Maxine, — not knowing anything about Private Strong’s 
financial resources. 

“No,” remonstrated Strong. “I’ve grown a little tired 
of ‘gold fish’ and army-chow, as well as canteen cookery; and 
I prefer to go into a real restaurant, such as I imagine they 
must have here. I’ve heard my father tell about this place. 
He came here once, many years ago. 

“Ye gods! This is the best place I’ve struck, since I left 
home,” ejaculated Strong. 

They walked through the Palm Garden, where a French 


[ 322 ] 


Getting Better Acquainted 

and Italian orchestra was giving one of its first programs, 
since the Armistice. 

“Speaking of your army ‘gold fish,’-—your salmon,— 
reminds me of a story of the far western country,” said 
Maxine. 

Then she related to him the story, which Richard Rad- 
cliff e had told her when she had first met him, on the occasion 
of the Worthington-Hargreaves’ dinner. 

“I have found a great many men, who remind me of this 
‘Salmon-Sturgeon Story.’ Some of them, who are sturgeon 
in America, are Captains, Majors and Colonels in France; 
salmon over here, and sturgeon at home. I have also found a 
considerable number of men, who are salmon in America and 
sturgeon in France. They are among our finest men back 
home, but over here, they are privates in the United States 
Army,” she added. 

“Your reference, to many of the American officers in 
France, reminds me of the ‘buck’ private who said: ‘Wait 
until that Captain gets out of his 0. Ds. (olive drab uniform), 
— what I won’t do to him!’ 

“ ‘No, you won’t, sir. You’ll stand in line and take your 
turn with the rest of us, ’ said the Sergeant, emphatically. ’ ’ 

Seated comfortably in the main dining-room, to the left 
of the dais, and above the Palm Garden of the Grand Hotel, 
Strong said: 

“What are you going to have for dinner? This is your 
dinner, you know.” 

“Suppose we start with Potage Saint Germain, followed 
by Filet de Sole Grand,” suggested Maxine. 

“All right, that suits me. I am prepared to do full 
justice to a big dinner; and while I feel like ordering every¬ 
thing on the menu, I am restrained by the fact that I have 

[ 323 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


an American woman with me, so that I shall not indulge myself 
to the extent of a starved soldier’s rapacious capacity, — be¬ 
cause I do not want either to disgrace, or to shock you. 

“In fact, when I look at you, I believe that I could even 
do without any dinner at all. Just to have the privilege of 
talking to you, and dining with you, would be a sufficient feast 
for me, at any time, so I shall leave it to you to determine 
what the waiter shall bring us.” 

“Let’s look at the menu again. Do you speak French?” 
she inquired. 

“Yes, in a way, I do. Let’s order some pommes and 
dinde. That’s turkey, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, and I am going to have some artichauts, and later 
on, some apricots. Suppose we finish with raisins. That, of 
course, you know, means grapes over here.” 

“Very good. The mention of all those dishes falls softly 
upon my ears,” remarked Strong. 

When the dinner was well under way, Maxine said: 

“I call this a pretty good feast.” 

“Now, you make me think of a picture on the funny page 
of a New York newspaper, which was recently sent to me. I 
don’t mean that you personally, remind me of the picture, at 
all. Of course not,” said Strong, laughingly; “but when you 
said that this was a pretty good dinner, it brought this pic¬ 
ture back to my mind. 

“Mr. Givney said to little Jerry, ‘If you bought six tickets 
to New Monia, at four dollars apiece, how much would they 
cost ? ’ 

“ ‘Why, twenty-four dollars, of course,’ answered Jerry. 

“ ‘Pretty good,’ said Mr. Givney. 

“ ‘Pretty good, your eye! It’s perfect,’ said Jerry, in- 

[ 324 ] 


Getting Better Acquainted 


dignantly. And so, that is what I say about this dinner. It’s 
perfect,” concluded Strong. 

“Yes, that’s a point very well taken. I’ve always read 
the funny page, but I’ve seldom seen one, since I came to 
France,” replied Maxine. 

The conversation turned to the prospective arrival of the 
representatives to the Paris Peace Conference. This was the 
evening following the announcement of President Wilson’s 
plan to represent the United States, at the Peace table. 

‘ ‘ The President, no doubt, believes that he can best secure 
the things the boys fought for, by coming to Paris, himself; 
but, if a youth of my limited experience is entitled to express 
his opinion, on so grave a matter, I must say, that I am a little 
apprehensive, as to the wisdom of his coming,” commented 
Private Strong, who had been a keen student of politics, from 
his boyhood, and whose newspaper experience had stimulated 
his natural aptitude for diplomatic affairs. 

“Yes,” responded Maxine, “these European diplomats 
are so schooled in the game of International Polities, that they 
play it with all the astuteness and adroitness of an expert at 
bridge; and once an amateur, who has lived three thousand 
miles from the center of International Diplomacy, comes into 
their midst, they will be quick to take advantage of his lack 
of experience in the tactics, strategy, and finesse of Treaty- 
Making Diplomacy. ” 

“Yes, if he were to remain back in Washington, he could 
deliberate more, before making important decisions. Then, 
he could express himself, through his representatives, here in 
Paris. Hence, he would place himself in a position so secure, 
that if anything went wrong, he could put the responsibility 
on his spokesmen here. 

“On the other hand, if matters went well, he could, him- 
[ 325 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


self, take the credit. The European Statesmen, who will be in 
the Conference, will have the advantage of close access to 
their advisers and parliaments, and will be in a position to 
know what kind of a Treaty will be most acceptable to their 
constituents/’ remarked Strong, who had vivid memories of 
all that he had read of Count Witte, Metternich, Tallyrand, 
Gladstone, Disraeli, Washington, Lincoln, and a score of other 
diplomats and statesmen. 

4 ‘ It will require a long time before we two million privates 
in France, will know to what degree we have made the ‘world 
safe for Democracy.’ When history shall reveal to us, clearly, 
the final consequences of this war, I shall regret none of the 
hardships, or sacrifices, incidental to army life, if it shall be 
proven that we have made any permanent contribution to the 
advancement of Democracy.” 

“Yes, I see that you feel much better, about everything in 
general, and war in particular, than you did, when I last saw 
you,” exclaimed Maxine, rather delightedly. 

“Indeed, I do; and it was your sympathetic interest, 
spirit of cheerfulness, and clear understanding, more than 
anything else, which brought me through those trying days 
in the Argonne. You will never know what it all meant to 
me,” replied Strong, appreciatively. 

When they left the dining-room, Strong suggested, that 
they might take a walk, through the Place la Concorde and 
the Rue Castiglione to the Rue de Rivoli. It was a quiet night. 
Paris seemed pleasingly restful. The intense and erratic 
excitement, which filled the streets, directly after the Armis¬ 
tice, had subsided. There were only a few people crossing the 
Place la Concorde. The Rue de Rivoli was brighter than it 
had been since 1914. It was not yet gay or frolicsome, but it 
was passively, if not exuberantly, happy. The lights were 

[ 326 ] 


Getting Better Acquainted 


radiant, but not brilliant. There were many French soldiers 
strolling along, leisurely, with their mademoiselles. There 
was a scattering of British and Polish soldiers, — a few 
Italians, and a goodly number of Americans. Some of the 
evening strollers walked through the Tuilleries Garden. Oc* 
casionally, a monk, with a proud, dignified gait, made his 
way in front of the park benches, while he cast the most 
reproving glances toward the soldiers and their sweethearts, 
who had settled down, comfortably, for a peaceful, uninter¬ 
rupted chat. 

The only light which shone far above the others, was that 
of a glittering, electrical device, fancifully contrived for 
dramatic effect. It was used as a heraldic, overlooking the 
Seine, and bore this inscription: 

“Welcome to Wilson, the Just!” The display was in 
largely illuminated letters. 

“Of course, you remember,” said Strong, “the story in 
Greek History, of Aristeides, the Just, the most popular man 
in the Ecclesia of Athens. One day, when he was a candidate 
for re-election, a Greek citizen exclaimed: ‘ I shall not vote for 
him this time, although prior to this, I have always done so/ 

“ ‘Why not?’ queried his companion. 

“ ‘Because,’ said the Greek, ‘I am tired of hearing him 
called Aristeides, the Just.’ ” 

Maxine listened intently. It seemed to her so extraor¬ 
dinary, that so young a man should have such clear vision, 
in regard to such weighty matters of State. 

“Such ovational tributes of welcome presage, I fear, 
disaster; — since it is not possible for any one, who is human, 
to measure up to the ideal, which the European people imagine 
Wilson to represent,” concluded Strong. 

“You have most unusual, political acumen. I have never 

[ 327 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


observed it, to such a degree, in any other young man. You 
must have spent your time rather studiously, and I should 
judge, wisely, ’ ’ commented Maxine, who was becoming keenly 
interested in Private Strong’s political forecasts. 

“What background have you had for political observa¬ 
tion?” she inquired. 

“Very little, in practice; a great deal in theory. My 
paternal grandfather was a New England manufacturer, who, 
for his day, made a fortune. But, in his later years, he 
guaranteed financial obligations for a friend, who met with 
misfortunes. This consumed much of his wealth; and my 
father took the few thousand dollars, which my grandfather 
left him, and went to Texas, where he accumulated consider¬ 
able means in merchandising, and exporting peanuts. Later, 
he became interested in oil, and things worked out well for 
him. 

“When I was no more than eight years old, I can re¬ 
member of lying on the floor, in front of the fire-place, in the 
big reception room of my father’s wholesale house, and hear¬ 
ing him talk to the salesmen and commercial travellers, about 
the politics of the time. I recall that he used to discourse upon 
public policies, both local and national. 

“He told me that my New England ancestors, had, many 
of them, held office; that he had, himself, been attracted to a 
political career, but that he had been too busy, making money, 
to retrieve the family’s fortunes, to enable him to give any 
time to serving in office, but that it was his hope, that when I 
grew up, I would aspire to public service. 

“My mother was a descendant of the Virginia Cavaliers, 
— her father having pioneered in Texas, and her ambition for 
me, since my father’s death, when I was only ten years of 

[ 328 ] 


Getting Better Acquainted 

age, has always been similar to that which my father enter¬ 
tained for me. 

M I hope, some day, to be qualified to render a greater 
service to my country than it has yet been possible for me to 
do, — especially, in the United States Army; — but the fact, 
that I, both entered the army, and came out of it as a private, 
will, I believe, as you once told me: 1 Serve me in good stead . } 
I hope, too, that my army experience will not only prove of 
practical benefit, in the development of my own career, but 
that it will enlarge my capacity for usefulness to my fellow- 
men. I trust that it may be the means of pointing the way for 
me to serve humanity well. 

“I was graduated two years before I entered the army, 
from the University of Texas, and I spent the two years, 
following my college course, in newspaper work, — the first 
year, in a very small town, called Strongsville, which was 
named for my father, and the second year, as I told you, I 
worked on the largest daily paper in Waco. Six months of 
this time, I was a reporter on this journal, and the other six 
months, I was assistant to the Managing Editor. I hope, some 
day, to get somewhere, as a representative journalist,” con¬ 
cluded Strong, in a determined manner. 

“You have an admirable preparation and practical foun¬ 
dation for a journalistic career, which might lead to circum¬ 
stances favorable to the realization of your political aspira¬ 
tions,” suggested Maxine, in a tone of enthusiasm. 

“Yes, I have a real desire to make good in the world, and 
to strengthen the cause of the common man, but I do not wish 
to make him, either too contented, or too discontented, with 
his lot, — but rather, I should like to see an enlargement of 
his powers of appreciation, coupled with an eager desire to 

[ 329 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

use all his opportunities, for the most constructive self-im¬ 
provement. 

‘ ‘ It requires so much contributed life, to make a fine lady 
or a fine gentleman, that I believe, that all those who lay claim 
to such a title, should declare moral, intellectual and spiritual 
dividends, on the investment of time, energy, and money, 
which is tied up in them. I believe that the average man 
should not be required to spend so much time in a struggle for 
the bare necessities of existence, and that there should be 
every incentive, offered by society, to induce him to spend his 
leisure in developing himself to become an efficient part of our 
national life; — to the end that our physical, mental and 
spiritual freedom may assert and express itself, in a well- 
defined policy of nationalism, which shall mean an uninter¬ 
rupted continuity of national life, and the supremacy of 
American standards in international relationships, which shall 
enable the United States to lead the world in trade, industry, 
commerce and creative thought. 

“I want to see our laboring men and women just as 
responsive to responsibility, as any other class of citizens. I 
want private enterprise to make its stewardship more vigi¬ 
lantly responsive to public welfare, so that it shall, at all 
times, become the servant of all the people, and not of any 
particular class, — so that it shall serve, without discrimina¬ 
tion, in conferring its favors and benefits.” 

‘‘Very well said. You have the right kind of enthusiasm, 
and you know that there isn’t anything in the world so con¬ 
tagious as enthusiasm, except, of course, the lack of it. 

“Your educational training, r—zeal for the common good, 
— coupled with your boundless energy, should make a way for 
you to enter public life, and help to bring into expression the 

[ 330 ] 


Getting Better Acquainted 

splendid ideals which you cherish/’ Maxine commented, with 
her usual earnestness. 

“Not forgetting my army experience again, which I hope 
will broaden my interests and sympathies, wherever I find 
myself,” replied Strong. 

They were back at the Boulevard des Capucines, when 
Maxine remarked: 

“ This has been one of the best evenings which I have had 
since I came to France.” 

“The very best which I have had, since I joined the 
army,” promptly answered Strong, “and I hope to be able 
to repeat it occasionally, if it will not be presuming too much 
upon your leisure and good-nature.” 

“Indeed, it will not be. As soon as things are reorgan¬ 
ized, I must go back to the huts in the field, because the boys 
will need diversion and entertainment now, more than ever. 

“In the meantime, come to see me often. I shall con¬ 
tinue to keep my headquarters at the Grand Hotel,” said 
Maxine, as Private Strong bade her good-night, in the lobby 
of that famous hostelry,—where the Kaiser had so confidently 
planned to take up his residence,— within such easy reach of 
the Opera and the Parisienne resorts of mirth, surrounding 
himself with every luxury, and indulging himself in costly 
gratifications of all his selfish desires. 


[ 331 ] 


CHAPTER XVI 


A Mental Recreator and Ambition 
Accelerator 

A T LAST, I seem to have commended myself to an officer 
of the United States Army. I have a new Captain, 
now. He has assigned me to the Courier service, — in fact, 
he has given me a place as chief clerk. That means that I 
must supervise all the official mail, which comes to Paris, and 
that I must be responsible for the proper routing of the mail, 
to all European and Asiatic countries. As soon as the Peace 
Conference is assembled, my duties will involve the dis¬ 
patch of the mail sent from there. It is really very necessary 
that the most practical and expeditious routes shall be used 
for all the important mail, in order that time may be saved, 
and the efficiency of the service maintained. Captain Dill is 
organizing a staff of the most trustworthy messengers, who 
shall carry, personally, all important documents to the dig¬ 
nitaries and notable attaches of that distinguished body.” 

With this piece of news, Private Strong opened the 
conversation, which took place between him and Maxine, a 
few days after their last meeting. 

“I see that you have a new spic-and-span uniform, too. 
I like that figure of the greyhound on the dark, blue back¬ 
ground, against the khaki. That’s the insignia of the 
Couriers, isn’t it? It’s very attractive,” replied Maxine, 
animatedly. 


A Mental Recreator and Ambition Accelerator 


“Yes, it does very well, in the absence of bars and oak- 
leaves and eagles and so on. The work is a change, anyway, 
and I think that it will prove to be rather interesting, because 
the Courier service covers the five continents. I might, pos¬ 
sibly, manage to get all the way around the world, just as a 
Courier in the army. Anyway, I might be fortunate enough 
to get part way around,” said Strong. 

“It would be a wonderful opportunity, wouldn’t it? But 
I don’t like to think of losing you so soon, now that we have 
become such good friends,” responded Maxine. 

“And I wouldn’t like to think of going, either. Oh! 
probably I won’t go. Since I’ve met you, I haven’t even 
been to see my French girl. Of course, she doesn’t appeal 
to me in at all the same way, or interest me, as you do. 

“You have seemed to understand my purposes and 
aspirations, from the very first. You have had a breadth of 
contact, which bespeaks very cosmopolitan associations, and 
which has given you a fund of information, a culture, and an 
understanding of life, which is a big advantage. It has 
given you the right kind of self-confidence. 

“My experience as a ‘buck’ private had a tendency to 
take away much of my self-confidence; but I am going to 
try to win it back again, insofar as my capabilities will 
justify.” 

“Yes, I really believe that you should cultivate more 
assurance, because you have the foundation of education and 
character, which would warrant a determination, on your 
part, to achieve for yourself, any place in the world, in keep¬ 
ing with your aspirations. This is a day and age, when 
young men have the opportunity, both to start things and to 
finish them. One does not have to stand back for old-timers, 
nowadays. The way is open for youth and energy. 

[ 333 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


“Well, to change the subject; how do you like this 
apartment? Don’t you think I was rather sensible to give up 
my suite of rooms in the Grand and lease this place, for a 
change?” 

“Yes, I believe that you will get more satisfaction out 
of it, and I see, too, that you have a very chic and smart 
French maid. Whenever you come back to Paris from the 
field, she will be able to have things in readiness for your 
comfort and enjoyment, while you are here.” 

“Yes, I think that she will take very good care of me. 
Her name is Fanchette. She is a very vivacious, emotional, 
little French girl, who lost the soldier boy, to whom she was 
engaged, — in the Marne salient, last July. She has an 
American soldier, who is her sweetheart right now,—a rather 
crude, country boy, who lives on a farm, somewhere back in 
the hills of Tennessee. She asked me this morning when I 
was going back to America, and when I told her ‘not for 
many months yet,’ she said that by that time, she might be 
able to accompany me, — that is, if she and her soldier boy 
continued to be lovers. 

“Of course, I couldn’t take her home with me, any-way, 
because I have a woman who keeps house for me, who has 
been just like a member of our family, ever since my child¬ 
hood. 

“Fanchette is, apparently, very devoted to me. She 
acts as my personal maid, as well as serving as cook and 
housekeeper. 

“I am trying to teach her to cook more as Mary Ann, 
my housekeeper in New York does.” 

“In addition to all your other accomplishments, you can 
cook, can you? I thought, from the very first, that you were a 

[ 334 ] 


A Mental Recreator and Ambition Accelerator 

wonderful woman, and now, I know it,” said Strong, with 
emphasis. 

“Well, I’ll take the chance of inviting you to stay for 
dinner, so that you can decide for yourself, whether I can 
really cook. You must remember, though, that cooking is 
only my avocation, — just a subordinate occupation, — so, 
don’t expect too much,” warningly suggested Maxine. 

“Anything which you are willing to do, is a safe bet 
with me!” ejaculated Strong. 

Within an hour, they sat down to a feast fit for kings. 
There was a shrimp cocktail, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, 
“piping” hot, with “beaucoup” butter, as Fanchette said. 
There was a mince pie, made of genuine American mince¬ 
meat, brought from the U. S. A. commissary. Maxine, her¬ 
self, had made the pie, which proved to be a delicious con¬ 
coction of well-known, Yankee mixtures. This dessert was 
followed by grapes, English walnut meats, and Riviera dates, 
stuffed with pecan meats. A large cup of coffee, sweetened 
with real American, lump sugar, also supplied from the com¬ 
missary, completed the menu. 

“When you invited me to dinner, you said that you 
were willing to take the chance. So far as I can see, the only 
chance which a man takes who eats this dinner, is that of 
losing his life by over-eating. I haven’t sat down to a spread 
like this, since I left my home, back in Strongsville, Texas. 

“Any woman, who can prepare such a dinner as this, 
ought to have a Distinguished Service Cross. I want you to 
know that, if it were in my power, I would award you a 
medal, and I would place upon your head, the highest and 
most exalted honors, which can be bestowed upon woman¬ 
kind. All that I can say now, however, is ‘I thank you, from 
the bottom of my heart, and the depths of my soul, and more 

[ 335 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


than this, I congratulate you on your ability and art as a 
cooky’ said Strong, in tones of praise and appreciation. 

“Your interesting conversation, and all-around socia¬ 
bility, constitute sufficient reward, for any effort which I 
may have put forth to entertain you. 

“Iam not going to invite many people to dine with me, 
or spend very much time entertaining in this apartment, — 
only just a few, in whom I happen to be personally inter¬ 
ested, because, as you say, I need the rest and relaxation 
whenever I come to Paris. 

“There are a few very well-known Americans, whom I 
have met in war work, and after the Peace Conference is 
established, and the winter season sets in, I shall meet a good 
many people at the American Embassy, but I am not going 
to permit myself to spend too much time at social functions, 
or in activities which will divert my energies from my work 
in the field. I like to go out once in awhile, but I am not a 
lover of society. 

“However, if you want to select a few of your friends, 
among the private soldiers, who do not have many of the 
right kind of social opportunities, you will be perfectly wel¬ 
come to invite them here to my apartment to spend an even¬ 
ing, any time that you like. It will not make any difference 
whether I am here or not. Whenever I am in the field, I 
want you to feel perfectly free to bring your friends in. You 
can play cards, and other games, and have a little music. 
The piano over there was rented to me with this apartment. 
Whenever I am at home, and you bring any private soldiers 
in with you, I will manage to have a salad, some fruit, sand¬ 
wiches and coffee. When I am not at home, you can bring 
in your own supper, and have whatever you like. Most of 
the time, Fanchette, will go with me to the, field; at other 

[ 336 ] 


A Mental Recreator and Ambition Accelerator 

times, she will go home to her mother; and some of the time, 
she will be here.” 

“You have given me a new idea of the meaning of the 
word hospitality. I thought, before I knew you, that we 
Southerners had a special brand of hospitality all our own, 
but since I have met you, I am inclined to think that we over¬ 
rate, in our own minds, the kind and generous reception and 
entertainment, which we provide for strangers or guests,” 
complimentingly responded Strong. 

“Henry, — I am going to call you Henry from now on, 
I know that some day, you will make your mark in the world, 
and then it will make me very proud and happy, to look 
back upon the time when I first knew you, — when you were 
getting your bearings on the world, and establishing your 
philosophy of life. If I can be the least bit of help, or inspira¬ 
tion to you, I want to bring to myself the pleasure of 
encouraging you, as well as the honor which will come to me, 
in later years, when I can claim you as one of my best 
friends of long standing.” There was such a deep ring of 
sincerity in all that Maxine had said, that it stimulated Henry 
Strong’s sensitive sense of gratitude. As soon as he could 
collect himself, he replied: 

“You have not only stimulated my ambition, but your 
conversation has been both a diversion and an inspiration to 
me. You are a mental recreator and ambition accelerator, 
and that’s some combination, I’ll say. In fact, I believe that 
every woman should have just these elements in her make¬ 
up, and I believe that she succeeds in retaining the friend¬ 
ship, and holding the heart interest of men, in direct pro¬ 
portion to her ability to entertain them, and her power to 
inspire them. ’ 9 

“I hope that is true. It ought to be true, — that is, if it 
[ 337 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


is true that women were actually created to be the help-mates 
of men, as I believe that they were. 

“I have been reading a great deal of late, and I believe 
that I have slightly strained one of my eyes. I am going 
to prepare a little solution of witch-hazel and bathe both my 
eyes in it.” 

Maxine excused herself for a moment, after which she 
returned to the fire-place in the living-room, to heat the 
concoction, which she had prepared, — that she might apply 
it, while it was warm. She saturated, with the liquid, a 
dainty, white, silk handkerchief. Just as she was about to 
apply the soothing balm, Henry suggested, in a tone of re¬ 
serve, tinctured with timidity: 

“ Perhaps I can be of some assistance. Excuse me 
while I wash my hands, and then let me hold your eye open, 
while you pour in the witch-hazel.” 

Henry performed this delicate service, with dexterous 
skill, and much tenderness. 

Maxine was aware, momentarily, that there was a mag¬ 
netic charm, both pure and refined, about the young man’s 
touch, which was characterized by becoming delicacy. She 
could not deny, to herself, for the instant, that this had made 
a slight appeal to her own well-controlled, but spontaneous 
and emotional nature. 

“Does your eye feel better?” inquired Henry, anxiously. 

“Yes, indeed. It hasn’t really felt badly at all, — only 
I realized that I had been over-taxing my eye-sight of late, 
and I want, very much, to keep my eyes in good condition. I 
had a one hundred per cent report from the occulist, when I 
entered the army.” 

* * No wonder. They could have given you that, without 
making any examination. If the eyes are the windows of the 

[ 338 ] 


A Mental Recreator and Ambition Accelerator 

soul, then your soul is a dwelling of peace and contentment 
and righteous living. Its depths are like those of the deepest, 
bluest sea, and its boundaries are as infinite as the space of 
the universe, — its sympathies as limitless as the expansive 
canopy of the sky, and its power for good as immeasurable as 
divinity itself,” said Henry, without apparent consciousness 
of the beauty expressed in his extemporaneous utterance. 

“Now, I am sure that you are qualified to be a writer, 
after a speech like that,” laughingly remarked Maxine. 

“No, it would not require any extraordinary ability, on 
the part of any man of average intelligence, to make a 
speech even better than that, while looking into your eyes. 
You’ve heard the song, haven’t you ‘She’ll Tell You What 
You’re To Do, Dear, If You But Look In Her Eyes?’ ” 

“Yes, I have,” replied Maxine, with coyness. Then she 
quickly changed the subject, by saying: “Fanchette is com¬ 
ing along, splendidly, with her Tennessean. I just saw him 
going around to the side door. Excuse me just a moment, 
while I go to tell her to give him a good supper.” 

When Maxine came back to the living-room, she went on: 

“I think you are to be congratulated on your admirable 
self-control, in successfully resisting the charms of these very 
attractive, almost irresistible, French girls.” 

“Not at all; — not when I have the choice of your 
society. On the other hand, I think that you, yourself, must 
have maintained an almost adamantine attitude, toward all 
the officers, who must have tried to make love to you,” 
asserted Henry. 

“My relations with the officers, whom it has been neces¬ 
sary for me to meet, have been quite agreeable; — but I gave 
them to understand, all the time, that I came here with no 
other purpose than to spend my time in helping to entertain, 

[ 339 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


and to build up the hopes and courage of the men in the 
ranks,’ * answered Maxine. 

‘‘Well, I know that you will agree with me, that a great 
confusion of social standards, among men and women, has 
accompanied and will follow this war. There have been, 
necessarily, many unconventional relationships between men 
and women. For instance, our own acquaintance would, 
perhaps, not have continued on the same basis, under normal 
conditions. Every man in the army, and every American 
woman, who has come to France, has had to face a chaotic, 
unparalleled combination of circumstances. I dare say, that 
you, yourself, with all of your natural poise, have been 
obliged, on many occasions, over here, to erect a personal 
barricade to defend yourself from the presuming, unwar¬ 
ranted advances of many of the officers, — while, no doubt, 
back home, a mere conventional signal would have sufficed 
in repelling the forward steps of any undesirable admirers 
or suitors/ ’ said Henry, indicating, rather pointedly, that he 
was somewhat curious, as to the methods which Maxine had 
employed, which had enabled her to resist, so cleverly, the 
over-confident, over-decorated officers, who were the subjects 
of so much envy, from the men who lacked their insignia. 

“Yes, I have had some such experiences, as those to 
which you refer/’ admitted Maxine. 

“I can easily understand it, because no woman, of your 
charm and personality, could possibly have escaped such 
experiences,” commented Henry, while he still wondered, as 
to the secret of Maxine’s ability to manage men and to keep 
their good-will, at the same time. 

“Thus far, I have been able to keep my somewhat sym¬ 
pathetic nature perfectly impervious to, and my heart im- 

[ 340 ] 


A Mental Recreator and Ambition Accelerator 

mune from all the attractions and inducements of those in the 
A. E. F., who wear the official insignia.” 

4 ‘That surprises me, in one way, and pleases me in 
another. I need not say that I have been exceedingly flat¬ 
tered, by your willingness to spend so much of your precious 
time with me, when I have known, all along, that dozens of 
the American officers were, as the boys say, ‘falling all over 
themselves’ to get a chance to talk to you, or an opportunity 
to spend an evening with you.” 

“I prefer to choose my men friends, on the basis of 
mutual interest, congeniality and capacity for comradeship. 
I have not been at all dazzled, or unduly impressed by the 
glamour of the shoulder insignia, with which I have been 
surrounded. In fact, one of the Brigadier-Generals, with 
whom I went to the theatre one evening, continued his 
attentions to me, until he made himself almost obnoxious. 
He spoiled, what might have been, a delightful friendship, 
by trying to make love to me. He mistook my cordiality for 
a real personal interest in him; and I had to make some very 
pointed remarks to him, before he understood my attitude,” 
explained Maxine. 

“I appreciate the embarrassment of the situation, in 
which you must have found yourself, but, at the same time, I 
am prepared to make some allowances for the conduct of the 
Brigadier-General. 

“You know there are a great many American women 
over here, who do not maintain the same standards of con¬ 
duct, under the strain of war and the events following it, as 
they did maintain before they came to France, or will con¬ 
tinue to follow after they will have returned home. 

“But, in any event, to revert to the incident to which 
you have just referred, I can appreciate the temptations of 

[ 341 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


the Brigadier-General, when he was favored by the privilege 
of spending any time in your enchanting presence. 

“Perhaps, he took it for granted, as some of the officers 
do, that our American women, under these conditions, over 
here, will permit more liberties than they are inclined to do 
at home. He may have even thought, in his mighty, official 
conceit, that he could really make love to you and that you 
would take him seriously,” suggested Henry. 

“Well, if he did, he certainly experienced a very humili¬ 
ating disappointment. It is true that some of the women 
have been rather thoughtless, and a little careless, about 
their conduct, over here. For the most part, however, I 
think that they have acquitted themselves with grace and 
splendid records for service,” said Maxine, with her usual 
spirit of fairness. 

“Yes, I think that is true,” remarked Henry; “but, of 
course, the more attractive they are, the more temptations 
they must experience. For instance, you, yourself, would be 
bound to be the center of much interest, — much more so, 
than those of lesser charm, or fewer accomplishments.” 

“You flatter me,” said Maxine, smilingly. 

“No, indeed. My powers of speech would not enable 
me to do that; — because I think so much nicer and better 
things of you, than I am ever able to say.” 

“I can only indulge myself in the hope, then that I shall 
always retain your good opinion,” responded Maxine. 

“All of which is, of course, a foregone conclusion,” 
replied Henry. 

Whenever Maxine came back to Paris, during the next 
few weeks, she always arranged to give considerable of her 
time to Henry. They had Thanksgiving dinner at the Grand 
Yatel in the Rue St. Honore, when Maxine was Henry’s 

[ 342 ] 


A Mental Recreator and Ambition Accelerator 

guest. When Christmas came, Maxine gave a dinner party 
to ten American privates; Henry, five of his friends, and four 
other boys, whom she had met in different sectors, during 
her field work, — all of whom had been sent to Paris to 
Clignancourt, — directly after the Armistice. 

Merriment and joyousness reigned supremely on this 
jovial occasion. It is doubtful whether there were anywhere 
in the whole, wide world, ten happier boys, than were 
Maxine’s guests. She presented them each with a box, 
containing stuffed dates, cakes, grapes and oranges, which 
they took back to their barracks, as a happy reminder of this 
mirthful Christmas. 

“This is some experience, I’ll say, for a lot of us fellows, 
who have been living on ‘slum gullion,’ dried apples and 
‘gold fish,’ and who haven’t seen the inside of a real home, 
since we left the States. I’ll get a lot of ‘kick’ out of writing 
home about this,” ejaculated Private Pete Zellers, from 
Milwaukee, Wisconsin, who received, up to the time that he 
became wounded at Chateau Thierry, thirty-three dollars a 
month. Then he was sent to the hospital, and when he was 
discharged from Base 57, was obliged to assume the status 
of a casual, because he had been detached from his own regi¬ 
ment for more than two weeks. He hadn’t received any pay 
since he was wounded, so that his finances were in a bad way. 
In fact, when he had been receiving his money regularly, he 
had always sent ten dollars a month, back to his mother. 
Ever since Henry had met Private Pete, he had always taken 
an interest in him. At this very time, he was ‘coaching’ 
Pete in English, so that the latter might secure a removal 
of a condition, which would enable him to enter Beaune 
University. Besides, Henry had helped this “Buddy” out 
a number of times, by passing over a few franc notes to him. 

[343] 


A Warning to Wives 


“This is a ‘swell’ place,” volunteered Private Eugene 
Austin, of Bay City, Michigan,—when he had once over¬ 
come the reserve and self-consciousness, which had caused 
all his emotions to congeal, when he had first entered 
Maxine’s unique and interesting apartment. 

And well he might have commented on this artistic and 
completely equipped domicile. Maxine had rented it from a 
Russian Princess, whose estates had been confiscated by the 
Bolsheviks, and whose income had been so diminished by the 
recent demoralizing events in her own country, that she had 
been obliged to seek cheaper residential quarters. 

This temporary residence of Maxine was delightfully 
located on the Champs Elysees. The entrance to the apart¬ 
ment house was quite commonplace. The double, bolted, metal 
doors were opened by a rather unkempt concierge. The vesti¬ 
bule was more enticing than the entrance. It was of white 
marble, with the finest, plate glass mirrors, set in along the 
hall-way, equi-distant from the floor and the ceiling. The 
lights were of soft blue, indirectly emitted from above. There 
was a fountain lined with sea-blue, in which mother-of-pearl 
lilies floated in the water. There was a large square room on 
the right of the hall, furnished in heavy, brocaded, blue velvet 
curtains, with divans, chairs and a davenport, upholstered 
with the same material as that of the curtains. There was a 
veiled gauze of lighter blue, over the windows, which softened 
the effects of the light. There were costly, Oriental rugs, and 
rare paintings, which lent the last touch of finish and good 
taste to this Salon. 

The dining-room was fitted out in solid, old mahogany, 
with mirrors on every side. 

The floor of the bedroom was covered with white, fox 
skins. There were many soft, silk pillows and cushions, in 

[ 344 ] 


A Mental Recreator and Ambition Accelerator 


pink and blue, which harmonized with the rose decorations. 
The furniture was enamelled in pure white. 

The bathroom was lined with blue, mosaic pieces, with 
mirrors on the sides, and on the ceiling. The bath tub was of 
immense size. The water ran in from ducks’ heads. There 
was an abundance of towels and bath kimonas carefully packed 
away in deep drawers, built in on one side. A concealed door 
from the bathroom afforded a means of exit to the main 
entrance hall, where the doors swung open to the outside 
world again. 


[ 345 ] 


CHAPTER XVII 




Maxine Outwits Her Rival 

“ T WONDER what Richard is doing right now. His letter 
I sounds so very unhappy, that I am distressed about it. 
No matter what our philosophy may be, there are times, when 
our perplexities confound us.” 

Maxine re-read Richard’s letter. It was full of discon¬ 
certing thoughts. He was dissatisfied, because he had not been 
able to get to France. The affairs of his office in Washington 
had been thrown into much confusion, since the Armistice was 
signed, by the large number of contracts, which the Govern¬ 
ment had made, for the purchase of supplies and equipment, 
which were not now needed. He had to spend much of his 
time, making adjustments; attempting to defeat selfish in¬ 
terests, and to protect the interests of the country. 

As for Eleanor, she had been kinder and more amiable 
than she had ever been before, except during the early days 
of their married life. In fact, her amiability was, at times, 
almost tantalizing to Richard, because, for many years now, 
he had been accustomed to her petulance and capricious ill- 
humor. The apparent transformation of Eleanor’s character 
would, undoubtedly, have been very gratifying to her hus¬ 
band, if he had not lost his heart to another woman, during 
the period of his wife’s incorrigibility, — at least, at what 
seemed to have been the very climax of Richard’s powers of 
endurance, when he found himself past forty years of age, 

[ 346 ] 


Maxine Outwits Her Rival 


the possessor of a fortune, which he had, himself, accumulated, 
but in which he could not find the same measure of satisfac¬ 
tion as would have come to him, had he survived the romantic 
illusion of his pre-married and early matrimonal experience. 
Then, too, he was always reflecting upon his childless state, 
and the reason back of it. 

In the letter, which Maxine still held in her hand, Richard 
commented upon the fact that Eleanor spent much of her time 
reading psychology, philosophy and religious literature. “At 
last, ’ ’ he said, ‘ ‘ she is beginning to digest and to apply to her 
own life, many of the things which she reads. ’ ’ Then he went 
on to say, that he had always believed in maintaining a poised, 
undemonstrative religion within one’s self, from day to day 
and year to year, during the whole period of lifetime, rather 
than to live impulsively and inconsistently, with intermittent 
flashes of good and strains of evil, interspersed along life’s 
pathway. There were times when he was almost irritated by 
Eleanor’s recently acquired virtues, — a patience which 
seemed to be an affectation, and a tranquillity, not capable of 
being agitated, not even when a real cause for agitation 
existed. 

Richard’s letter continued to comment upon the trying 
predicament, in which he found himself. He did not really 
want to take steps to secure his legal freedom from his wife, 
unless Maxine would consent to marry him. As matters were, 
he could adjust his affairs so that he would not be obliged to 
spend but very little time with Eleanor. They had been no 
more than good friends to each other, for many years. There 
would be no point in arranging a divorce between them, unless 
Richard was to be compensated by Maxine’s companionship 
in the married state. He reserved to himself the thought that 
a disunion of his marriage relation, might interfere with the 

[ 347 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


realization of his political aspirations, but, in his heart, he 
preferred Maxine’s love to any office or honor in the world. 

“Possibly, if he would go ahead and get his divorce, with¬ 
out putting the responsibility of this drastic action so much 
upon my shoulders, I would look at the matter differently. 
But it is the same old story, of the vital question being put 
up to the woman to decide. I believe that men always do that. 
I don’t like to take it upon myself to make this whole decision, 
and I don’t want to tell him that, perhaps, I would look at the 
matter differently, if he were to go ahead and get a divorce, 
when I am out of the country. 

“In any event, I must dismiss debating this question so 
much in my own mind. It is taking too much of my best 
energy. I must live my life with continuity of purpose, and 
not introduce so many digressions, which are sure to bring 
disaster in the future. I must bring myself back to that plane 
of deep trust and understanding, where I will know that the 
events of my life are to be ordered in sequence, for my very 
best interests. I must not deviate from my innate, spiritual 
faith. I must not preach or advocate that which I do not 
practise. The degree of my deviation in this regard, would 
amount to just that much of insincerity, and I deem sincerity 
to be the very hall-mark of character.” 

Just as Maxine had concluded these reflections, the door 
bell rang. She knew that it was Henry, who had come to take 
her to a performance of Thais at the Opera. She was always 
glad when she was about to see Henry; and now, she half 
reproved herself that she had not been anticipating his visit, 
instead of dwelling in so much reverie, concerning Richard 
and his affairs. 

It was one of those wonderful evenings, when nature was 
serene and tranquil, — when the moon shone brilliantly, over 

[ 348 ] 


Maxine Outwits Her Rival 


the wide, open boulevards and park spaces of the Champs 
Elysees, with its formidably arranged rows of guns, some of 
which had been placed there for the defense of the city, and 
others, which had been captured from the Huns. 

A typical, French driver, with rather shabby clothes, and 
a well-worn, silk hat, had brought Henry across the city in a 
phaeton, drawn by a sleek, well-groomed, bay horse. Now, 
Maxine and Henry were driving back, — slowly, — because 
Henry had told the cabby that they had plenty of time. 

“ ‘So, this is Paris!’ ” ejaculated Henry, as they drove 
along. “I have been taking it all in pretty thoroughly, for 
the last several weeks. I want to be able to give some good 
descriptions of it, in my future writings, so I must learn all 
about it, or some one will bob up and say, that I really was 
never at the party at all.” 

‘ ‘ I shall be very anxious to read whatever you may write, 
when you go back to your newspaper work once more. Some 
day, you will do something, which I believe will be a per¬ 
manent achievement in literature,” said Maxine, encourag¬ 
ingly. 

“If I don’t, it won’t be because you have failed in your 
efforts to make me believe that I can. You always give me 
confidence in myself, and now, I am working and studying, 
so as to be sure that I shall always have something substantial, 
on which to base my confidence. If I were not attached to the 
army, now, I would take a course of study at the Sorbonne.” 

They were at the Opera now, where they soon found 
themselves gazing on this elaborate spectacle of gorgeousness 
and splendor. The music was in perfect rhythm. The con¬ 
cordant notes and pealing strains of beauty seemed to be 
borne to the ears of the listeners on heavenly waves of ether, 

[ 349 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

which made every sound clearly audible and expressive of its 
message. 

When they left the Opera, it occurred to Maxine that the 
hour was so late that there was a strong possibility that Henry 
would be tardy in arriving at his headquarters at the Mediter- 
ranee Hotel, where the Couriers were billeted. 

Maxine knew that such tardiness would mean discipline, 
and, perhaps, undue punishment for Henry, so she said: 

‘ 1 I think I had better have you put me in a taxicab here, 
and let me go to my apartment alone. It is only a few blocks, 
and I fear, if you are detained, that it will mean embarrass¬ 
ment for you.” 

“No, indeed/’ replied Henry, “I would not think of 
leaving you to yourself in this crowd. 

“I shall see you safely into your apartment, no matter 
what the consequences may be, as affecting myself. ’ ’ 

Maxine had observed, previous to this, that Henry always 
insisted upon playing the gallant, chivalrous part, which was 
an innate attribute of his character. 

After Maxine had bade Henry a rather hasty good-night, 
and thanked him for his consideration of her, she found 
herself back in the drawing room of her apartment, where she 
fell back, sighingly, into a big, easy chair, in front of the 
fire, which Fanchette always had ready for her, when she 
came home. 

‘ ‘ Is it right that I should continue to spend so much time 
with Henry? He seems to need me, though, and I fear that 
as time goes on, the feeling may come over me, that I need 
him. Propinquity of congenial spirits is dangerous. WTien I 
began to see him so often, it was because I believed, in my 
heart, that I could help him to find himself, and I know that I 
have. But the question is, are we not getting closer together, 

[350] 


Maxine Outwits Her Rival 


so that we depend upon each other more? Is it best that a 
young, comparatively inexperienced man shall go on enjoy¬ 
ing the society, so frequently, of a woman who is seven years 
older than himself? Will it, in the last analysis, result in 
happiness for either of us ? Do such affairs usually terminate 
fortunately ? 

“What is not best for both can not be best for either of us. 

“But, in spite of myself, my thoughts frequently travel 
back to Richard. Will I ever be able, in the face of his 
matrimonial handicap, to put him, forever, out of my life, 
so far as becoming a life companion is concerned?” These 
were the questions which passed, at a galloping pace, through 
Maxine’s mind. 

Meanwhile, Henry Strong was doing some thinking him¬ 
self, while journeying along, at a belated hour, toward the 
Mediterranee. 

‘ ‘ Really, ought I to go on with this ? I seem to be falling 
in love with her, more and more, every day. I seem to grow 
increasingly sure of my feelings toward her, — but it will 
be a long time, before I shall have the courage to tell her so. 
If I should tell her, and then in later years, find myself 
mistaken, it would be a fatal experience. I know that it is 
easier, and less dangerous, to say less than we mean, than it is 
to say all that we mean, and then, some time find out that our 
judgment has proven to be fallible. I know that it is easier to 
get mixed up in a love affair, than it is to extricate one’s self 
therefrom. I have had my school-boy love affairs, both in high 
school and in college, and then, suddenly, I have awakened to 
find it all a silly dream. This is the first time that any one of 
the feminine variety has held my interest for so long, and 
my interest, in this case, is based upon a knowledge of her 

[ 351 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


worth and character and ability to appeal to, inspire and 
bring out the best that there is in me. 

“After all, Paris would be dreadfully lonesome without 
her, and I suspect that, possibly, it might be equally dreary 
for her, without me, although she has many more outside 
resources for amusement and entertainment than I have.” 

As Henry walked into the military headquarters of the 
Couriers, anticipating that he would, probably, have to face a 
lieutenant, who seemed to find his greatest joy in life in 
disciplining the soldiers under him, he reproved himself, some¬ 
what, for having indulged himself, so confidently, in the 
thought that Maxine fully reciprocated his feelings toward 
her. He recalled that she had talked to him once about 
acquiring more assurance; now, he feared that, possibly, he 
was overdoing the matter, — and that he had mistaken her 
generous, unselfish interest in him for something greater and 
more vital than it really was. 

The following evening, when he met Maxine by appoint¬ 
ment, at the famous Henry Restaurant, where they were to 
dine, she questioned him at once, as to whether the incidents 
of the previous evening had not made him late at his head¬ 
quarters. He admitted that his arrival there had put him in 
arrears about five minutes, and when Maxine questioned him 
further, she learned that Strong's Lieutenant had sentenced 
him to kalsomine the ceiling of the barracks, as a punishment 
for his tardiness. But Henry assured her: 

* 1 The privilege of being of any service to you is a bounti¬ 
ful compensation for any curtailment of my personal priv¬ 
ileges, or, in fact, for any incarceration which could be in¬ 
flicted upon me.” 

“It distresses me though to have you punished in this 
[ 352 ] 


Maxine Outwits Her Rival 


manner, because it is so unnecessary. There was no reason 
why you should not have sent me home alone,’’ she replied. 

“No, indeed. You are doing too many wonderful things 
to help the boys out, for even the slightest negligence of you, 
ever to be tolerated by any of us. I know that right now you 
are spending about three hours every day, when you are not 
in the field, in interviewing individual officers, to solicit favors 
or privileges for the private soldiers. Private Jensen told me 
today, that it was due to your influence, that his Sergeant’s 
stripes were not taken away from him. That was as kind and 
just a thing as you could have possibly done. Simply because 
he had been riding in a mail coach, guarding the Couriers’ 
mail, for three nights in succession, without any sleep, he took 
it upon himself, to engage a room in a Y. M. C. A., Hotel, in¬ 
stead of sleeping with his Pal, who had invited another boy to 
share his bunk, — not knowing that Jensen was coming back 
that night.” 

4 ‘Yes, Major Wilbur had assured me, so many times, that 
the laws providing for the trial of private soldiers in military 
courts, were just and fair, that I determined to ‘ call his bluff, ’ 
so to speak. Then he really had to offer to give Jensen proper 
counsel to defend him. The Captain, who was assigned to take 
charge of Jensen’s case, was entirely outside of the group of 
officers who command Jensen, so that when this little surprise 
was sprung upon them, they simply dropped their charges 
against Jensen,” explained Maxine. 

“Yes, and doesn’t that show what ‘influence’ will do, 
toward getting a ‘square deal’ for a fellow?” 

“Yes, of course, we all know that ‘influence’ counts for 
more than it should.” 

‘You have helped so many boys to secure justice, that 
that achievement alone is worthy of your having come to 

[ 353 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

France. You have used, to the best advantage, your unfail¬ 
ing logic, and you have exercised, effectively, your womanly 
charms, in a becoming and legitimate manner, wherever the 
exigencies of the situation have required you to do so. Of 
course, your natural, feminine attractiveness has strengthened 
and accentuated your influence, wherever you have presented 
yourself,” concluded Henry. 

“I don’t believe that I told you about my experience, a 
few evenings ago, when I addressed several hundred of the 
Military Police. I really dreaded this very much, but I 
started in, by telling them that ‘M. P.’ to me, stood for some¬ 
thing more than Military Police; that it stood for Mighty 
Polite, and that I considered the members of the A. E. F., in¬ 
cluding the Military Police, to be the mightiest, politest men, 
who had served in the World War. I told them also, that 
‘M. P.’ should stand for Mercy for the Privates, but instead of 
that, that I believed it stood, more often, for ‘Mademoiselle 
Promenade.’ ” 

“That was very good wit, indeed, and I am sure that it 
pleased them,” commented Henry. 

The very next day, while walking near the Madelaine, 
Maxine chanced to meet a Miss Viola Gardner, who had been 
a passenger on the same ship, on which Maxine had come to 
France. Miss Gardner informed her that she was about to be 
sent home, with a dishonorable discharge, for a minor viola¬ 
tion of the rules, which governed the social service organiza¬ 
tion, to which she was attached. Maxine believed Miss Gardner 
to be a well-meaning, although sometimes, indiscreet, young 
woman, who had made a misleading statement on the blank 
which she had filled out, when she joined the civilian society, 
which had sent her over-seas. She had written in “No” in 


[ 354 ] 


Maxine Outwits Her Rival 


answer to the question “Have you any male relatives, or a 
fiance, serving in the A. E. P. in France ?” 

Afterwards, it had been discovered, by some of the women 
authorities, in the Paris office, that Miss Gardner was engaged 
to a Lieutenant in the Twenty-sixth Division. 

Maxine thought that the discipline and punishment, which 
had been administered to the young woman, was too harsh, 
and so she volunteered to go to the office of the Red Cross, and 
try to intercede in Miss Gardner’s behalf, hoping to secure a 
modification of the words “dishonorable discharge,” which 
were incorporated in the young woman’s papers of dismissal. 

Maxine succeeded in influencing the women officials of 
the Red Cross, to subdue and soften, in tone and language, the 
allegations in their formal charges against Miss Gardner; but, 
nevertheless, the offending young woman was to be dismissed 
and sent home, informally, without complaint, as to her con¬ 
duct, or any penalty for misbehavior attached to her creden¬ 
tials of demobilization. 

A few days before Miss Gardner was to sail, Maxine in¬ 
vited her to dine with her, because she wished to soften, in the 
memory of the unfortunate young woman, the latter’s un¬ 
pleasant experience. To add to the pleasure of this occasion, 
Maxine invited Henry to join them. 

As a matter of fact, Viola Gardner was a divorced widow, 
who had assumed her maiden name, and she understood all 
the arts and manoeuvres of coquettish, fascinating widows of 
her kind, and withal, she esteemed Maxine to be a very proper 
sort of person; but she attributed to her hostess, a greater 
degree of innocence, in regard to many worldly matters, than 
the latter possessed. Thus it happened, that Maxine was not 
altogether unconscious of the bewitching glances, which Miss 
Gardner cast in the direction of Maxine’s young knight. 


[ 355 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Miss Gardner, who was very sophisticated and experi¬ 
enced in flirtatious proceedings, trusted to her artful re¬ 
sources, to conceal from her hostess, her attempts to make a 
one-evening conquest of the young soldier’s heart. 

Maxine was, ostensibly, perfectly oblivious to her rival’s 
manoeuvering, which encouraged the charming, coquettish 
Miss Gardner to go to a greater length in her attempted 
flirtation, than she would have dared to go, had she under¬ 
stood that Maxine was more worldly-wise than the pretty, 
blonde flirt imagined her to be. 

In fact, Maxine was secretly amused by the spirit of 
coquetry of her guest, and by the playful rejoinders of Henry. 
With her characteristic liberality of mind, Maxine entered 
into the spirit of the occasion sufficiently to leave Miss 
Gardner alone with Henry, for a few minutes; — that the 
two might have an opportunity for a tete-a-tete. Accordingly, 
she made an excuse that she must speak to Fanchette about 
something, and absented herself from the room for about 
fifteen minutes. 

During this time, Miss Gardner made it known to the 
young soldier that it would be agreeable to her to know him 
much better, providing their attraction was a mutual one. 

‘‘You are a young man after my own heart,” said Miss 
Gardner to Henry. “Just the kind that I have been looking 
for.” 

Henry responded playfully, “Well, isn’t it fortunate, 
then, that you found me?” 

“Yes, indeed. I’ve never been to the Pantheon de la 
Guerre. Would you be able to take me there tomorrow?” 

“Yes, if I can get permission to take two or three hours 
off, I will be glad to take you.” 

These last words fell upon Maxine’s ears just as she came 

[ 356 ] 


Maxine Outwits Her Rival 


into the room, where she found Henry sort of hovering over 
Miss Gardner, as a humming bird hovers over a flower. 

At the instant, her feelings alternated between amuse¬ 
ment and a slight degree of resentment; but she was too 
diplomatic to do anything but ignore the matter. Her self- 
control did her great credit. It was a part of Maxine’s phil¬ 
osophy, never to say anything to anybody, or about anybody, 
— the influence of which she did not wish to have become 
permanent in that person’s life. 

Of course, Henry was only testing Maxine’s good nature, 
to ascertain for himself whether her amiability was as much 
a part of her character and development as was her well- 
known ability. 

When it came time for Miss Gardner to leave, Henry 
escorted her home. After they left, Maxine reflected some¬ 
what, on the incidents of the evening, which she had suc¬ 
ceeded in making interesting for her guests. She half-guessed 
the truth, that Henry’s apparent interest in Miss Gardner 
was only a way which he took to amuse himself, and at the 
same time, to reassure himself as to Maxine’s broad-minded¬ 
ness and amiable spirit of toleration. 

The next day, a messenger boy delivered the following 
letter at Maxine’s apartment: 

My dear Maxine: 

No doubt the incidents of last evening may re¬ 
quire some explanation. I feel that an explanation, 
if not an apology, is due you. 

I was only playing, — jesting. 

When you made an excuse to leave the room, I 
made a tentative engagement to meet Miss Gardner 
today. Only a few minutes ago, I succeeded, after 

[ 357 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


an hour’s effort, in reaching her on the telephone at 
her Pension, and told her that a situation had arisen, 
which made it impossible for me to see her today. 
She understood, also, from other things I said to her, 
that I was not at all in earnest in my conversation 
with her last evening. I only wanted to see how far 
she would go with her audacious flirtation, and so, I 
led her on a little bit. 

I did not admire her taste in flaunting herself in 
your face in such an unbecoming manner, and I con¬ 
fess that my own conduct was as ungallant, as was 
hers, indiscreet. 

However, I know you will understand now, that 
this facetious, little incident was all in jest. 

I know the taste of rancid butter, and while this 
may be an unhappily chosen figure of speech, I can 
not think of anything which better expresses my 
feeling toward women of her kind. 

I want to tell you that your breadth of mind, 
and amiable attitude, during this ungracious circum¬ 
stance, register high with me, and have stamped 
themselves upon my memory. 

You are a true, army brother, as well as a wo¬ 
manly woman, and I pay you the tribute of saying 
that I want to be worthy of the privilege to know you 
always, and the honor to be counted, forever, among 
those who are your nearest and dearest. 

I am sending, by the messenger, with this letter, 
a box of candy, which I just bought at the commis¬ 
sary, — the only place where real candy can be ob¬ 
tained in Paris. 


[ 358 ] 


Maxine Outwits Her Rival 


I will call to take you to dinner at seven o’clock 
this evening. 


Ever yours, 

Henry. 


[ 359 ] 


CHAPTER XVIII 


The Inspiration 

I T WAS the first of April, 1919. Maxine had landed in 
France on the twenty-third day of March, 1918. She was 
beginning to grow a little weary of the strenuousness of her 
work in the field. It was true that it had been a little less 
strenuous since the Armistice, because she had been able to 
arrange to spend about one-third of her time in Paris, — for 
the past four months. During that period, she had kept up a 
frequent correspondence, both by cable and letter, with many 
of the Chambers of Commerce, in the Eastern cities of the 
United States. Through this means, she had helped to secure 
many positions for soldiers, who were prepared to render 
service, along specialized lines. For instance, the Chamber of 
Commerce in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, found places for 
many mining engineers. Other similar organizations opened 
opportunities in the manufacturing industries of New Eng¬ 
land,— the farming communities of the Middle States, and 
various commercial enterprises of the large cities, where trav¬ 
eling salesmen would be needed. 

As soon as the Armistice was signed, Maxine had antici¬ 
pated the situation of unemployment, which would follow the 
war. She knew that the boys back in the States, who had not 
been sent to France, would have the opportunities to place 
themselves, before the Over-Seas boys could be demobilized; 

[ 360 ] 


The Inspiration 


— at least, whatever competition existed, would be in favor of 
the soldiers, who had not been sent to France. 

While engaged in public speaking to the troops, Maxine 
had been obliged to live so much of the time in peasants ’ 
homes, poor hotels, and inferior Pensions, that she was begin¬ 
ning to feel the need of a complete rest, and change. So she 
arranged with Colonel Hinckley, who had charge of her service 
record, to give her a little office in the Malesherhes, where she 
could meet, by appointment, several soldiers every day, to 
help them to solve the many problems which confronted them. 
By this time, Maxine’s acquaintance, in the army, was so 
broad that she was kept very busy in meeting all of the 
soldiers, who sought advice or assistance, in Paris. 

With the multitude of duties, which she took it upon her¬ 
self to perform, she found time to do many things, which 
helped to give to Henry an inspirational stimulation for a 
useful and brilliant career. She made several scrap-books, 
containing articles, stories and speeches of famous men, and 
continued to remind him that the highest success and greatest 
career, within the gift of the gods, were within his reach and 
grasp. 

She frequently told him that it was within his power to 
attain high office, — dictate public policies, and become a 
leader in worldly achievement. All of this encouragement 
bore fruit in Henry’s mind and development. 

One night as he was walking back to the army head¬ 
quarters, after he had dined with Maxine at her apartment, 
he was thinking to himself: “If I felt sure that she would 
accept me I would make plans to marry her, some time. Of 
course, it is unfortunate that she is older than I, but I will 
not let that stand as a barrier between us. 

“She knows how to take care of a home; look after the 

[ 361 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


personal comforts of the members of a household, and above 
all, she knows how to stimulate the ambition of the man in 
whom she is interested, as I imagine few women know how to 
do. She is well-schooled in all these arts, and her accomplish¬ 
ments are happily combined, because she possesses the attri¬ 
butes of a modern woman, and all the virtues and best attain¬ 
ments of our grandmothers. 

‘ ‘ I believe that she is naturally affectionate, too; — that 
she is sentimental, as well as mental. She is personally attrac¬ 
tive and intellectually magnetic, — a combination rather un¬ 
usual, in any woman. 

“This is the first sustained case that I have ever had. I 
have had girls, but not one of them has ever registered with 
me as she does. 

‘ 1 1 doubt if I shall ever be any happier than I have been, 
during the time which I have spent with her. 

“If I do not marry her, I am bound to be disappointed in 
the one whom I do marry, because I shall always look back on 
this experience, as a period of perfect happiness. 

“After all, they say that few men have the sense to 
marry right. She has every inducement, and every virtue 
which any woman should have. 

“If married, we could and would, live in a world of our 
own, regardless of what anyone else might think of the 
match.” 

Continuing his soliloquy, after he arrived at his room, he 
thought: 

“Yes, she is the biggest enigma among womankind, whom 
I have ever known. I can not understand why she has not 
married before this. One of her genteel endowments and 
accomplishments has surely had many suitors and oppor¬ 
tunities for marriage. 


[ 362 ] 


The Inspiration 


11 Unless we are both sure, — very sure, of our love for 
each other, we must not become so attached to each other, that 
either one of us will be unable to live contentedly, without the 
other. *’ 

Only a day or two after this soliloquy, Henry stopped at 
the LaFayette Galleries Department Store, to take Maxine 
home from a shopping expedition. He waited for her a few 
moments, at the entrance. She soon arrived; — her cheeks 
flushed with the excitement, which had ensued from a hurried 
afternoon, attended by much exertion. She had just purchased 
a grayish-blue, georgette frock, which hung in pleats from the 
narrow waist line. The pleats were ornamented with a tracery 
of silver, which extended around both sides of the skirt. The 
ends of the sleeves and the flat, turn-over collar were, likewise, 
traced with silver threads of the same design, as those of the 
skirt. 

As soon as they arrived at Maxine’s apartment, she ex¬ 
cused herself, and requested Fanchette to assist her in donning 
her new garment. In a minute or two, Fanchette brought 
forth, from one of the bureau drawers, a pair of sheer, blue, 
silk stockings, with satin slippers to match. These habiliments 
completed the harmony of Maxine’s costume. Fanchette 
dressed her hair in graceful coils of marcelled waves, slightly 
pushed forward over her forehead and temples. This style 
of hairdressing was in contrast with that of Mary Ann Milton, 
who had always insisted that Maxine’s beauty was enhanced, 
and her features most pleasingly presented, when her hair was 
combed back from her forehead. 

After dinner, which had proved to be another one of 
Fanchette’s and Maxine’s skillful feats in artistic cookery, 
Maxine and Henry were seated in front of the fire-place, 
talking over the events of the day, and the week. 

[ 363 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Suddenly, Henry reminded himself that he had brought 
with him a package, which he had forgotten to take from his 
over-coat pocket. He went to get it, and then handed it to 
her, remarking, as he did so: 

“You always look so remarkably well, and you look so 
especially well tonight, that it brought to my mind, this little 
gift, which I bought for you today.” 

“You are always doing something generous for me. What 
have you been doing now?” 

Maxine unwrapped the box, in which was carefully 
packed a handsomely engraved, silver backed mirror, of the 
finest, French-made glass. 

“It is very unique. The pattern is of such unusual 
design. It looks as though it might have belonged to 
Josephine, when she lived in the Palace of the Tuilleries. 
Thank you so much, Henry. I shall always prize this highly. ’ ’ 

“I found it in a shop in the Rue de la Paix. They had 
no other toilet articles, which matched it, or I would have w 
bought the complete set. 

“I thought that it was just the kind of mirror that I 
would want to have, if I were a woman,” said Henry. 

“You thought exactly right. Every time that I look in it, 

I shall always think of you,” graciously responded Maxine. 

“That will be a generous reward, in proportion to the 
little time and thought which it required for me to select it. 

“You look so charming tonight, that just now, I am 
wondering with what fate I should meet if I should covet for 
myself one of the privileges which, evidently, the Brigadier- 
General, whom you mentioned, some time ago, sought for him¬ 
self. Of course, I do not flatter myself that I should meet 
with any happier fate than that of my superior,-—the re¬ 
nowned Brigadier-General,” cleverly remarked Henry. 

[ 364 ] 


The Inspiration 


“You have no superiors,” quickly answered Maxine. 

“Well, then, perhaps, granting that I may he the equal 
of some of the men who wear bars and oak leaves and eagles 
and stars, still, I might meet, in seeking your special womanly 
favors, with the same cold repulse with which the distinguished 
Brigadier-General and other officers, have met.” 

“Put all such nonsensical notions out of your head,— 
that is, I mean, any ideas which would be the same as those 
which they had. They are unworthy of you. 

“I want you to use all your best energies for progress 
and achievement. 

“Probably you are familiar with these lines from Goethe: 

“ ‘Are you in earnest? Seize this very minute; 

What you can do, or think you can, begin it; 

Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. 

When once engaged, the mind becomes heated; 

Begin now, and then the work will be completed.’ ” 

“That’s just what I was trying to do, — to become en¬ 
gaged, and I can definitely assure you, that the poet was right 
in regard to what he said, concerning boldness, which I don’t 
believe I have succeeded in using to the very best advantage, 
for there doesn’t seem to have been much genius, power or 
magic in it, judging from the results, which I am getting,” 
smilingly asserted Henry. 

“We’ll talk about this some other time, when, perhaps, 
it will be more fitting for us to do so, than it is right now. 
There is a reason why I can not discuss this subject seriously 
with you, right now, so let us talk of something else. 

“I am more in earnest than you know when I speak of 
your natural abilities for public service. Your literary tastes, 

[ 365 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


—inclination to contact people,—and your studious habits, will, 
when developed in the right proportion, fit you for a career of 
prominence in journalism, diplomacy, or statesmanship. 

“Your aptitude for such a career is indicated daily, by 
your reading, conversation, and the watchful eye which you 
keep on the proceedings of the Peace Conference. 

‘ ‘ I want to live to see you in a place of power, where your 
leadership may help to bring to our country a realization of 
the best and truest national ideals, for the United States,” 
concluded Maxine. 

“If, in the future, I shall ever prove myself qualified for 
the sacred trusts, which you do me the honor to mention, in 
connection with your aspirations for me, -— let me say that I 
shall owe my honors and distinction to you. 

1 ‘ The inspiration which has come to me, from the many, 
many happy hours spent with you, — you may, perhaps, not 
realize. 

“Such words as have just fallen from your lips have 
made me wish to live in such a manner as to express the best 
which there is in me. 

“I am conscious, however, of my limitations. I some¬ 
times think that my Texanic spirit, of which you have so often 
spoken, makes me too frank,—too abrupt, — too much in¬ 
clined to state things as they are, — and that these candid 
attributes of my character make me appear to lack gentility; 
at least, this is true of the surface, although inwardly, I 
flatter myself that I am gentle, if not outwardly, genteel.” 

“Henry, do you remember the words of the proverbial 
Irishman who said: 

“ ‘Ability without gentility, is like pudding without fat; 

“ ‘But gentility without ability, is ten times worse than 
that’?” 


[ 366 ] 


The Inspiration 


Henry laughed heartily at this apt reference to Irish wit. 

“I have observed, Maxine, that in our conversations, you 
always put me to the fore, and yourself to the rear, — a very 
tactful, genteel, complimentary thing for you to do; but you 
must know that I enjoy hearing you talk of other subjects 
besides myself, and the capacity and equipment, which you 
believe I possess for a successful conclusion of my career; — 
although I confess that I have my share of masculine egotism ,’ 1 
remarked Henry. 

‘ ‘ But you will not deny me the pleasure of talking of that 
which most interests me. From my early girlhood, I was 
always keenly interested in reading and hearing of those men 
who had an immaculate conception of public trust. 

“While in boarding-school, during my senior year, I 
elected to read Nicolay and Hay’s Life of Lincoln. I liked 
Lincoln’s homespun philosophy, — his good humor and whole¬ 
some wit. Above all, I loved to read of his honesty. 

“His tall, angular, even ungainly figure, only enhanced, 
in my mind, my admiration for his unique and peerless 
character. 

“And do you know, that as I observed your profile, a few 
days ago, as you were standing by the window, your resem¬ 
blance to ‘Honest Abe’, — at least, to the pictures which I 
have seen of him, — was almost uncanny; — and as you quoted 
to me his Gettysburg Address, about a week ago, it seemed to 
me that your fidelity to Lincoln’s message was almost 
uncanny. ’ ’ 

“That is the finest compliment, which I have ever had 
paid to me, except, perhaps, that from my school-mates back 
in Texas. I should never have thought of mentioning this, if 
you had not spoken as you did a moment ago; and I know you 

[ 367 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


will believe that I speak with due humility when I tell you 
that one of my earliest recollections as a college freshman, 
was the reference of my class-mates to me as ‘Abe.’ That 
was the nick-name, so to speak, which they gave me, when I 
appeared in my first debate. 

“Secretly, this made me proud and happy, and more 
than that, it gave me the determination within, to study, imi¬ 
tate, and follow the principles and teachings of that great 
master; — Lincoln, whose name I revere, and whose memory 
I honor, with my whole being. 

“I believe I have read, carefully, every one of Lincoln’s 
public addresses. In fact, it was my memory of distinctive, 
public utterances of Lincoln, which kept up my courage so 
many times, when I was only a mere private in the army. 
They served me in better stead than the words of some of our 
modern statesmen. They helped to sustain my morale, when 
the vacillating speeches of some of our contemporary men in 
public life would, perhaps, have made me weak and faltering. ’ 5 

“I remember, as a college girl,” said Maxine, “of having 
read Carlyle’s ‘Heroes and Hero Worship,’ and you may 
recall that he said: ‘Certainly this is a fearful business, that 
of having your able man to seek and not knowing in what 
manner to proceed about it. That is the world’s sad predica¬ 
ment. ’ 

“I have always thought it a fortunate, political turn of 
events that Lincoln was discovered and brought forward, and 
I have often wished that we might either have more such 
political accidents, or that we might devise some more efficient 
system for bringing forward men with a genius for states¬ 
manship,” commented Maxine. 

“Yes, the weak spot in Democracy is that it generally 

[ 368 ] 


The Inspiration 

chooses its leaders by popularity, and not by efficiency/’ said 
Henry. 

“But to revert to Lincoln, I have often thought that if 
every young man of natural intelligence and strong patriotic 
inclination would devote himself assiduously to a study of the 
teachings, principles, and practices of Lincoln, that the country 
would be well taken care of, politically, — and not only polit¬ 
ically, but educationally, industrially, socially and even reli¬ 
giously. Certainly, young men of political aspirations, who 
undertake public careers, would render better service, — and 
in other vocations and professions, the same consequences 
would follow. 

‘ ‘ The chemist, for instance, would be a better chemist, — 
the merchant, a more honest merchant,:— the banker, a more 
thorough financier, — the physician, a more efficient adviser 
and conservator of public health, — the tailor would make 
better clothes; the mechanic would do a more skillful day’s 
work; and the average citizen, in every walk of life, would be 
more earnest in his desire to perform the humblest service, 
well/’ concluded Henry. 

“I wish that every young man could have your vision 
and understanding of the responsibilities of good citizenship 
and political stewardship,” said Maxine. 

“I wish that every young woman enjoyed discussing these 
things, and appreciated their importance as much as you do. 

“You have the power and personality to direct and con¬ 
trol the best and highest attributes of a man’s character. 
Would that this were true of all women! 

“You remember that Kuskin said, in his ‘Queens’ 
Gardens’: 

“ ‘And whether consciously or not, you must be, in many 
a heart enthroned; there is no putting by that crown; queens 

[369] 


A Warning to Wives 


you must always be; queens to your lovers; queens to your 
husbands and your sons; queens of higher mystery to the 
world beyond, which bows itself and will forever bow before 
the myrtle crown and the stainless sceptre of womanhood. 
But alas! many of you are often idle and careless queens, 
grasping at majesty in the least things, while you abdicate it 
in the greatest; leaving misrule and violence to work their 
will among men in defiance of the power which, holding 
straight in gift from the Prince of all Peace, the wicked 
among you betray and the good forget. ’ 

“Ruskin also says that woman ‘must be enduringly, in- 
corruptibly good; instinctively, infallibly wise, — wise, not 
for self-development but for self-renunciation. ’ To me, you 
have always met this test, — this standard written of by 
Ruskin. 

“You will recall that Ruskin said, too: ‘It is the type of 
an eternal truth that the souPs armor has never been well set 
to the heart unless a woman’s hand has braced it, and it is 
only when she braces it loosely that the honor of manhood 
fails. ’ 

“You have braced this armor well to my heart. I can 
never thank you sufficiently for this . 9 ’ 

“It is an honor to play any part at all, no matter how 
small in the worthy career, which I contemplate for you,” 
modestly answered Maxine. 

“In your relationship with me, you have never left a 
stone unturned which should have been turned in the direction 
of consummating my highest interest, ’ ’ volunteered Henry. 

“I shall be very proud to remember this when you shall 
have ascended the heights of greatness, and shall have been 
proclaimed among the greatest men of your day,” said 
Maxine, earnestly. 


[ 370 ] 


The Inspiration 


“If ever I make this ascent, you shall be justified in 
thinking: ‘ I made him that which he is; I helped him to erect 
his foundation; I inspired the vision, which led him to his 
achievement. ’ 

“Our friendship has been like a revelation of the Scrip¬ 
tures. I have never experienced anything which approximated 
it in sublimity, and never expect to do so again. You merit a 
very rich reward for your unselfish interest in me; — whether 
or not you ever receive such a reward, — you deserve it with 
compound interest,” Henry assured her. 

“I shall be satisfied to know that you think me entitled 
to such a reward. I crave no other reward than this;— than 
to know, always, that you deemed my companionship worth 
while, and found, as you have said, inspiration in it. 

“Somewhere a poet prettily said: 

“ ‘If I could mount to Heavenly heights; 

And ask one gift of the white-winged choir; 

I would ask no greater gift, 

Than to be able to inspire.’ ” 


[ 371 ] 


CHAPTER XIX 


The Great Adventures of Life 

“II/f"ADAME, la Princesse Prexy desire vous parler par 
1V1 telephone si vous voulez bien.’ ’ 

“Merci,” answered Maxine, to Fanchette’s summons. 

“I hope that she doesn’t want this apartment back. 
She’s the Russian Princess, you know, who has the long 
lease on it. I am only her tenant, and I agreed, when she 
sub-let this place to me, to let her have it back whenever she 
wanted it,” remarked Maxine to Henry, while she hurried 
to answer the telephone in the alcove, just off the drawing¬ 
room of this palatial, Parisienne dwelling. 

1 1 Comment vous portez vous, Princesse?” 

“Je vous prie de m’ excuser si vous me permettez de 
revenir vous voir. ’ ’ 

“Je suai heureuse de vous voir de suite,” responded 
Maxine. 

“Je suis tres pressee je viendrai maintenant, au revoir 
et merci,” said the Princess, and then hung up. 

“The Princess is coming over right away. She seemed 
to be in a rather disturbed state of mind. It makes me a 
little uneasy. She is a very charming woman. I went to tea 
with her only a few days ago, and yesterday, I had her here 
for luncheon. You haven’t met her, have you? I want to 
introduce you to her. She is such a vivacious, interesting 
character, — just brimming over with emotion and enthu- 

[ 372 ] 


The Great Adventures of Life 

siasm, — full of ideas and schemes for getting her estates 
in Russia restored to her. She is a widow, whose husband 
was killed in one of the Bolshevistic uprisings. She fled 
from Russia incognito, under the protection of the All- 
Russian Government, which instructed her to proceed in the 
disguise of a house-maid, as though she were taking advan¬ 
tage of an opportunity to free herself from the heavy yoke 
and arduous discipline of a nobleman’s household. 

“She was telling me yesterday about the many exciting 
experiences which she had, while making her escape. The 
officers of the All-Russian Army, who understood her status, 
of course, protected her, but at the same time, they tried, as 
much as they dared, to make love to her. The officers, on the 
other hand, in the Bolshevist Army, who believed that she 
was only a servant-maid, converted to their cause, attempted 
to detain her, — but she was liberated and brought out of 
Russia by an American officer, who had been sent to bring 
Allied prisoners back to France and England. Her husband 
had some investments in Paris, which he had made several 
years ago, and these amounts, with the sums of money which 
she has been able to receive from her own properties in 
Russia, — through the influence and intercession of the old 
Russian Embassy here in Paris, have enabled her to live with 
some degree of comfort, — although when rubles became so 
depreciated in value, she was obliged to seek less expensive 
living quarters than these. She seems in such haste to see 
me, that I am inclined to think that she has had some good 
news, — that something has happened which will enable her 
to take back this apartment. If that is so, then I shall go 
back to the Grand Hotel for the remainder of my stay in 
France, because it would not pay me to try to find another 
desirable apartment, for the short interval between now and 

[373] 


A Warning to Wives 


the time when I will, undoubtedly, be going home.” Maxine 
had hardly finished these remarks to Henry, before Fanchette 
announced that Princess Prexy had arrived. 

“Tres bien. Depechez-vous. Je reverrai Princess tout 
de suite,” Maxine instructed Fanchette. 

Maxine and the Princess exchanged affectionate greet¬ 
ings, after which Henry was presented to her Royal guest. 

A few preliminary remarks preceded the introduction of 
the subject which Princess Prexy had come to discuss. Henry 
politely volunteered to excuse himself, in the event that there 
was anything of a confidential nature, which the Princess 
wished to say to Maxine. By this time, however, the little 
Russian lady felt perfectly at ease in the society of the 
Texan, so she begged him to stay and listen to all that she 
had to tell. In animated manner the Princess related a 
strange story of romance, and abiding heart-interest in the 
life of an American soldier, — a Lieutenant who had been 
picked up from a prisoners’ camp in Turkey, while the party 
with which she had come out of Russia was passing through 
Constantinople, — on their way to Paris. 

His name was James Stanwood. He had been captured, 
while he was receiving instruction in aerial navigation, from 
the British naval air forces. He had been apprenticed to 
them for several weeks, before their bombardment of Con¬ 
stantinople, July 7, 1918, and was so ill-fated as to have been 
one of a few to be captured by the merciless Turks. 

He belonged to a family of wealth and position in New 
York, — was a graduate of Harvard, and before he entered 
the army, he had experimented quite successfully in aero¬ 
nautics over Long Island and thereabouts. For many years, 
he had been secretary of the Aero Club of New York City. 

[ 374 ] 


The Great Adventures of Life 

He had fallen much in love with Princess Prexy on their 
long journey over the continent from Constantinople to Paris. 

After she had been in Paris several weeks, she had met, 
at the American Embassy, a Brigadier-General from the 
United States. Maxine was not a little surprised when she 
learned that this General’s name was Swanson, — a descrip¬ 
tion of whom proved him to be the same man who had so 
ardently attempted to woo her only a few months before. 

Now, the Princess poured out upon Maxine’s ears, a tale 
of almost unceasing attention and uninterrupted devotion 
on the part of General Swanson in his recent courtship of 
the Princess herself. Of late, he had discovered that the 
little Russian beauty favored the suit of Lieutenant Stan- 
wood, whose efforts to win the favor of the Princess had 
been no less earnest than those of his military superior; — 
but to the amazement and chagrin of General Swanson, 
young Stanwood had won the race in the contest for the 
Royal lady’s affections. This defeat had so humiliated this 
conceited, military dignitary, that he was bent upon a policy 
of unrelenting vengeance toward both the Princess and his 
rival. Accordingly, he had watched every possible oppor¬ 
tunity, which might lead to the gratification of his own deep- 
seated desire for revenge. 

Very recently, the Princess had given an informal party 
at her home. A number of young officers had been bidden. 
During the evening, Lieutenant Stanwood had been taken 
very ill, — so much so that his condition required the imme¬ 
diate attention of a physician. One of the army doctors 
came to attend him, and stated that his malady was so far 
developed, that unless it was very necessary, he would not 
remove him for the time being to a hospital, because of the 
imminent, overhanging danger. The doctor, who was a 

[375] 


A Warning to Wives 


Major in the American Army, explained the situation to 
Princess Prexy, who immediately insisted, that under the 
circumstances, she would not permit the young Lieutenant 
to be taken away from her apartment. She would, she said, 
keep him there until he was completely out of danger, and 
she would esteem it a privilege to act as his nurse until he 
should recover. 

Major Thomas, the attending physician, stated that he 
would make a report which would excuse Lieutenant Stan- 
wood’s absence from Clignancourt, — but in some way, the 
papers, granting a formal leave of absence were not com¬ 
pleted. This news came to the ears of General Swanson, 
who at once, saw to it that the charge of Away Without 
Leave, (A. W. 0. L.) was filed against Stanwood. As soon 
as the Lieutenant was able to leave his bed, he was incar¬ 
cerated in a military prison at Clignancourt by the orders 
of Brigadier-General Swanson, who, now, even refused to 
permit Princess Prexy to visit her soldier sweetheart. 

And so, the Princess with intense emotion and distress 
of mind, poured out her heart to Maxine, whose sympathies 
she sought to enlist. 

Her words could not have fallen on more susceptible 
ears, because Maxine had, since the later developments of 
her acquaintance with General Swanson, suspected him of 
being a hard-hearted, cold-blooded, selfish man. She assured 
Princess Prexy that she would at once take the matter up 
with General Dimock, and she would, at the same time, speak 
to Colonel Hinckley, whose word from the “inside” would 
go a long ways at Army headquarters. That very afternoon, 
Maxine and Henry accompanied the Princess to Clignan¬ 
court. The mention of Maxine’s name proved to be the Open 
Sesame to all the privileges which the Princess was seeking. 

[ 376 ] 



The Great Adventures of Life 


They visited Lieutenant Stanwood in his cell, and carried 
to him a basket of goodly edibles, — so that the misery of 
his incarceration was greatly subdued and minimized by the 
visit and work of the good Samaritans. 

Within a week after this incident, Maxine had succeeded 
in securing the influence of General Dimock, who had 
ordered a final dismissal of the charges which had been pre¬ 
ferred against Lieutenant Stanwood. When Maxine’s re¬ 
quest reached General Dimock, he found in his records a 
statement signed by General Swanson, which demanded, at 
once, a court-martial trial of Stanwood. This requisition was 
of course, dishonored, and a final investigation of the case 
eventually resulted in the demotion of General Swanson from 
the rank of Brigadier-General to that of Colonel in the United 
States Army. 

The Princess married Lieutenant Stanwood, whose in¬ 
heritance of a substantial fortune from his father, resulted 
in circumstances which made the retrievement of her own 
fallen fortunes less important,— and not at all necessary so 
far as her future security was concerned. 

Thus, did a beautiful, fairy Princess, by revealing the 
“milk of human kindness” which flowed so gently through 
her veins, win her way back to the status of wealth and 
prestige, which she had so involuntarily abdicated. She 
assured Maxine, with gratitude, that the apartment occupied 
by her would be at her disposal as long as her benefactress 
desired it. 

“Let’s go around to the Louvre,” suggested Henry to 
Maxine, just as they had come from a visit to Clignancourt, 
where they had learned that the case against Lieutenant 
Stanwood had met with a prompt dismissal. 

As they walked leisurely through the corridors of this 

[ 377 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


renowned gallery, Maxine observed a bust of Brutus. There 
was a youthful expression, radiating a spirit of optimism, 
which had survived through the turbulent times of that 
altruist’s noteworthy career. The countenance revealed 
placidity, gentility, and spirituality. 

“But, mark you,” said Maxine, “the face seems a little 
too credulous,— and I have sometimes thought this same thing 
of you, — that you might sometimes allow yourself to be 
imposed upon by too great credulity, as did poor Brutus.” 

“Well, your remark will serve to put me on my guard. 
Possibly I have too great faith in human nature. 

“How true it is that we all need something, or someone, 
to save ourselves from ourselves; — to reveal ourselves to 
ourselves in order that we may arrive at a proper under¬ 
standing of ourselves ; — and we all need something to in¬ 
spire us. 

“An incentive is always essential to success. What an 
avalanche of ability goes crashing down the mountain sides 
of time, cut in twain by a piercing glacier of unkind, 
destructive criticism. 

“Without inspiration and a definite objective, few char¬ 
acters are strong enough to make much of a score in the 
world.” 

As they paused before the bust of Octavia, Henry re¬ 
marked : 

“What a pity that Mark Antony failed to appreciate 
her. Had he profited by the association and companionship 
of such a woman, he might have been the master of the 
world. ’ ’ 

“Yes, but how much better to have borne the fate of the 
unfortunate, deserted Octavia, than to have been destined 
to play the cruel part of the heartless Cleopatra. 

[ 378 ] 


The Great Adventures of Life 

“And yet, there is a little of the Cleopatra in all of us, 
and something, too, of the Octavia. There must needs be a 
constant struggle in the best of us, between the elements of 
a virtuous, idealistic Octavia, and the characteristics of a 
sensual, selfish Cleopatra,” replied Maxine. 

On their way back to Maxine’s apartment, as they 
started to cross the Champs-Elysees, Henry was accosted by 
a dejected looking, American soldier, who bore every evi¬ 
dence of having suffered from shell-shock. The unfortunate 
boy thus stated his situation: 

“I have been a casual ever since about two months be¬ 
fore the Armistice. I have had neither my army pay nor my 
mail, during all that time, — since I was discharged from a 
hospital, after the Battle of St. Mihiel. I must either get 
some money this afternoon, or turn bandit this evening.” 

Henry put his hand in his pocket, and true to his big, 
generous nature, he handed his Buddy fifty francs. Maxine 
took from her beaded bag a card, on which she wrote a brief 
message. “Take this to Colonel Hinckley at Clignancourt, 
and he will straighten you out, ’ ’ she said, as she pressed the 
note into the discouraged boy’s hand. 

That evening, while Henry and Maxine were at dinner 
in her apartment, they went back, in their conversation, to 
the Louvre, and the incidents of the afternoon. They men¬ 
tioned again many of the famous women of history, dwelling 
at length upon the important parts played by those who had 
determined the destinies, to a great degree, of their sons, 
husbands, and even the countries themselves, in which they 
had made history. 

“If you could have chosen your own sex, as you entered 
the world, would you have preferred to be a man?” queried 
Henry. 


[ 379 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


“No,” answered Maxine, “I would have elected to be of 
the feminine persuasion.” 

“You are the first woman, whom I have ever known 
who expressed a preference for incarnation as a member of 
the so-called, weaker sex,” replied Henry, in a tone which 
indicated a little surprise. 

“I should have made that choice, without any hesitation, 
because I think that it is a greater satisfaction to be the wife 
of a successful man, and have the privilege of taking care 
of him; giving birth to, and rearing his children, than it is 
to go out into the world to compete with men in trade, 
industry, commerce and professional life, as all men have to 
do. 

“I esteem it a greater blessing to be affectionately 
domiciled in a place of peace, surrounded by a garden wall 
of tender and chivalrous devotion, than it is to enter com¬ 
petitive fields, where the laws of social and political economy 
make business strife necessary. 

“I believe it is a greater solace, in times of national 
danger, when international crises result in war, to know that 
one has given birth to a soldier, or several soldiers, who go 
forth to serve their country, than it is to know only the joys 
of paternal parenthood, — shielded, as the latter function is, 
by physical safety, at the time of childbirth, in contrast with 
the inevitable risk of life and necessary pain, which accom¬ 
pany maternal parenthood. 

“To know that one has risked the Great Adventure, in 
order to permit another human to enter the world, is equal 
to, if not greater in achievement, than the risk of one’s life 
upon the battlefield, — because the period of pre-natal re¬ 
sponsibility, — risk at birth, — and consequent responsibility 
after birth, calls for longer duration of service, as a rule, 

[ 380 ] 


The Great Adventures of Life 

and more continuous, uninterrupted devotion to one’s 
country, than any other effort, ’ ’ concluded Maxine. 

“Mentally,” said Henry, “you are about sixteen women 
in one. I have heard of ‘ sixteen to one ’ as a ratio for coining 
silver and gold, hut I never before dreamed of a feminine 
personage, who would comprise sixteen personalities in one. 

“You have a more complex personality than Doctor 
Jekyl and Mr. Hyde ever approximated in the palmiest days 
of his double life. 

“But your complexity lies in your versatility of mind 
and spiritual resources, instead of in a capacity for duplicity 
and dissimulation. 

“I want to speak of something, if I may, which we have 
discussed before. You once paid me the compliment that I 
bore a resemblance in figure and facial expression to the 
portraits which you had seen of the immortal Lincoln. 

“This tribute, although sincere on your part, I question 
in point of fact. I confess, however, that it made me very 
happy, at the time you spoke of it. 

“Whether or not such a claim for my personal appear¬ 
ance could he in the least degree, substantiated, if that peer¬ 
less statesman were living today, I doubt; but your sugges¬ 
tion that you observed a striking similarity in the profile of 
your humble servant to that of the man, whom I believe to 
have been our greatest national benefactor, fills me with 
inspiration; —even greater than it did, in my college days, 
when my classmates affectionately hailed me as Abe on the 
campus, on the morning following my first college debate. 

“I speak of all this now, because you have been so good 
and generous, in praising and applauding me; and I assure 
you, again, with gratitude, that if it be in my power, your 
praise and goodness shall hear fruit, during my entire life, 

[381] 


A Warning to Wives 


and if the fruit be worthy the eating, I trust that those who 
partake of it shall radiate in the world as electrifying an 
influence for good, as you have continually sent forth to me. 
This is the only way whereby I can repay you, in the slightest 
degree for all that your influence has meant to me. 

“And now that the time approaches when we shall be 
temporarily separated, and I shall precede you on the voyage 
to the United States, I want to give myself the pleasure of 
telling you that, just as you have appealed to every spark 
of idealism and divinity in my nature, by venturing to 
compare me, in any way whatsoever, with Abraham Lincoln 
and by telling me that I spoke with a sincere fidelity to 
Lincoln’s message, when I repeated his Gettysburg address, 
so I hope to appeal as strongly to the best and highest and 
noblest in you, when I assure you, that during our conversa¬ 
tion just now, when you talked so glowingly, and discoursed 
so effectively on the Great Adventures of Life, and Birth and 
Motherhood, that you reminded me, in your concept of Valor 
and Courage and Unselfishness of that greatest of all women, 
—Joan of Arc, who occupies, as Mark Twain said ‘ the loftiest 
plane possible to human achievement, — a loftier plane than 
has ever been achieved by any other mere mortal’.” 

“Now there, dear boy, you are soaring to great heights; 
and while I adore your sincerity, I think you are going 
much too strong, when you compare me with Joan of Arc; 
so I am going to ask you to change the subject; just to make 
me comfortable,” protested Maxine. 

“Very well; anything to please you!” ejaculated Henry. 
“But I think you should have permitted me the same indul¬ 
gence as I granted you, when you first compared me with 
Lincoln. 

“But since you’ve suggested a change of conversational 
[382] 


The Great Adventures of Life 

topic, what do you think will be General Pershing’s final 
place in history?” 

“In discussing General Pershing, let us proceed from 
the lighter to the greater side of his remarkable personality, 
and glowing achievements. First of all, on the social side, 
he has no superiors, and few equals, in the Courts or drawing¬ 
rooms of Europe. His conduct is the last word in the art of 
savoir-faire. Everywhere in social circles, he is liked and 
admired, for his agreeable personality; — not for the fact 
that he has proven himself a great General. 

“Secondly, on the diplomatic side; — if he had not 
possessed the most consummate skill, he never would have 
been able to secure for the American soldiers, the privilege 
of fighting in units in aggregated divisions, — at the time 
when the other allied military chieftains were decided upon a 
policy of segregation of the American forces, as an expedient 
means of affiliating the newly arrived, inexperienced soldiers, 
with those of greater experience and longer practice in the 
activities of war. 

“And the fact that General Pershing retained his com¬ 
mand, is also a tribute to his diplomacy, as well as to his 
military genius. 

“And now, since I want to make my Hero-General a 
four-square man, I will say thirdly, that on the business side, 
he has proven himself to be a business man with a business 
plan, — because he took many poorly organized units in the 
Ar my and organized them on a proper and efficient basis. 
He managed, by every ingenious process at his command, to 
obtain the supplies, equipment and munitions necessary for 
the American Expeditionary Forces. He introduced methods 
of sanitation into the French economic system, without which 
the physical discomfort, both to the French and American 

[383] 


A Warning to Wives 


soldiers, would have been far in excess of that which they 
experienced in the latter days of the war. 

“And to complete the fourth side of the square, I may 
add that the military results, so well known to us both,— 
and to all the world, for that matter, — speak clearly for 
themselves, without need of repetition or amplification.” 

“I believe your claims for the General have not been in 
the least exaggerated. I think it is unfortunate, however, 
that in his public addresses he indicates a certain degree of 
self-consciousness, which detracts from the power of his 
spoken words. He is not at his best as a speaker; but history 
will make allowance for this; — and in the final analysis, I 
believe, with you, that General Pershing will retain his laurels 
as well if not better, than any other man connected with the 
recent war. At least, he has contributed an imperishable 
legacy to the traditions and institutions of the United States, 
which shall guarantee to him an immortal place in the annals 
of our country.’’ 

“I have heard,” said Maxine, “that certain influential 
financiers in the United States have volunteered to organize 
a preliminary Presidential campaign, on behalf of General 
Pershing; and that when he was consulted about it, he was 
told that ample funds would be forthcoming for the purpose 
of arranging public receptions for him in every large, Ameri¬ 
can city, when he returns to the United States, — that he may 
become more intimately known to the great mass of the 
American people, in the event that he entertains the idea of 
permitting himself to become a prospective Presidential 
candidate. 

“His answer was that he only wished to complete the 
work of successfully settling the affairs of the American 
Expeditionary Forces, which come properly under his juris- 

[ 384 ] 


The Great Adventures of Life 

diction, and that he would not go up and down the country, 
upon his return to the United States, apparently seeking a 
reward for having done that which, in his own mind, con¬ 
stituted only his simple duty.” 

“That is true modesty; — true greatness,” commented 
Henry. “It is indeed regrettable that the General has not 
been better understood by the average soldier, — for I be¬ 
lieve that next to the country-at-large, General Pershing was 
interested in the private soldier more than in anything or 
anybody else, in connection with the war. 

“He has known pain and suffering and real heart sorrow, 
and I believe these experiences have softened his natural 
sympathies to a greater degree than most of the men in the 
ranks realize.” 

“Yes, and he was proud of the standard of morale of 
the American soldiers; and counted it his greatest responsi¬ 
bility to do all in his power to maintain and sustain that 
morale, ’ ’ volunteered Maxine. 

“Yes, and that is the most important thing, by far, in 
the life and work of an army, — morale lost, all is lost.” 
Henry continued. 

“Of course, you have heard that the French soldiers 
believed that Joan of Arc fought with them at the first 
Battle of the Marne; — that she was with them, helping 
them to win, from the very first. I have been told, by many 
of the poilus, who were there, that a few days before they 
struck back on the German center and hurled, against the 
Prussians their unexpected army on the left, that the French 
were almost totally discouraged and encompassed by their 
own fears to the point of despair, — when suddenly, there 
appeared before them, the white, angelic figure of a slender 
girl, — mounted on a snow-white palfrey. The girl, as she 

[ 385 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


passed, merely looked to the right and left with searching 
eyes of deep penetration; first, as if to question if it could 
be possible that anyone present lacked either hope or courage; 
and then, her questioning glance changed to one of tenderest 
pity and compassion, then, quickly again, her whole counte¬ 
nance was illuminated as if by Divine light, as the emana¬ 
tions and radiance from her spiritual face seemed to inspire 
directly, as if by Divine guidance, every officer and soldier 
in the ranks. 

“Immediately there followed the very swift, brilliant 
counter-attack of the French, which resulted in the German 
right flank’s losing its cohesion and the original German plan 
of the war to take Paris and crumple the entire French 
Army back upon itself, — was destroyed. 

‘The French poilus have told me, many times that 
they know that the figure on the magic, white palfrey was 
that of Joan of Arc, who came to breathe inspiration to them 
at the crucial moment of their despair; and that it was her 
spirit which led them to victory again, as she had done in the 
days when France crippled the English power. 

“So many have told me of having seen this vision that, 
personally, I do not doubt it. 

“In fact, I do not believe that anything or anybody ever 
dies; but I do believe that the spirits who have gone on will 
always help us to fight our battles and meet our Calvaries, 
if we will only let them. 

“I believe they are as close to us, in point of proximity, 
as the flowers; and that we may breathe their very presence, 
if we but will. I believe they talk to us, in our thoughts, 
and express themselves in our actions. 

“No one is dead; no, that can not be. All life is per¬ 
petual in the final reckoning of things,” concluded Henry. 

[ 386 ] 


* 


The Great Adventures of Life 

‘Your words remind me of an old song,” said Maxine, 
as she walked toward the piano. Then she played an im¬ 
provised accompaniment, while she sang: 

“ ‘When yon are gone; and I am left alone; 

Just send an angel down and I will come; 

Oh, do not leave me to live without thee’.” 

“That is a very sweet song. I have always believed that 
you talked with angels; and now I feel sure of it. I feel so 
grateful for all that you have done for me,” said Henry, 
thoughtfully. 

“Your appreciation is a great reward, — all the reward 
that I seek,” responded Maxine. 

Then she went on: “I saw Colonel Hinckley today and 
I had an opportunity to speak with him alone, while we were 
out at Clignancourt. I talked to him again about you, and 
he gave me definite assurance that he would give you a 
commission and send you, as a First Lieutenant, into the 
Army of Occupation, if you desire to go. He will recommend 
you and put the matter through right away, if you want him 
to,” suggested Maxine. 

“No,” replied Henry, “Not at this late date—after the 
fighting is all over. I haven’t much interest in men who 
secure their promotion after the danger is past, although I 
know that a great many commissions are being granted, and 
that numerous promotions are being made right now. I 
would have liked to go back to Texas, especially to my 
mother, wearing the insignia of an officer; — but since I was 
not so fortunate as to win these laurels while the fighting 
was on, I will not accept them, through your influence, now, 

[ 387 ] 




A Warning to Wives 

although you know that I appreciate your efforts none the 
less.” 

“I know just how you feel about it. However, when the 
time comes for you to be demobilized, which you think will 
be very soon now, I am going to suggest to Colonel Hinckley 
that he shall take you home on the same ship with him. He 
really needs a secretary, because he has been requested to 
furnish so many lengthy reports to the War Department. 
You could help him out beautifully, and it would be much 
better for you to go home this way, than it would be for you 
to go back through the ordinary channels of demobilization.” 

“You are very thoughtful, always thinking of something 
for me. I think though that if I return to the United States 
with the Colonel, I would undoubtedly go along as his 
orderly, although I might perform secretarial duties, at the 
same time. If he wants me to go with him, I will be very 
glad to have him make a requisition for my services in any 
way which suits his convenience, ’ ’ replied Henry. 

“Very well, I will see about it, directly. After you go 
home, I am going up to the Army of Occupation for awhile,” 
said Maxine. 

“Oh, you are! Well, perhaps if I had known that I 
would have felt differently about being sent to Germany 
myself,” laughingly remarked Henry. 

“No, you’ve made your decision now, and I think you 
will have to stand by it,” answered Maxine, in a rather 
teasing manner. 

“I suppose so. Well, I don’t approve of a vacillating 
course of conduct, anyway.” 

“In any event, I think that it will be a mutual advan¬ 
tage for you and the Colonel to know each other. He was 
born in Missouri, literally, as well as figuratively, speaking. 

[ 388 ] 


The Great Adventures of Life 


He is a regular army man, a graduate of West Point. It is 
his understanding that he is to receive an assignment, which 
will transfer him from Washington, D. C. to the State of 
Missouri, where he believes he may, eventually, retire from 
the army and enter politics. There is a good deal of brisk, 
popular journalism in his make-up. He told me that, had 
he not entered the army, he would have taken up newspaper 
work, so I know you will enjoy knowing him.” 

Within a fortnight, Colonel Hinckley sailed for the 
United States. Henry went with him. 

The day after they sailed from Brest, Maxine received 
the following letter, which was delivered to her by one of 
the couriers, a friend of Henry, who brought the mail from 
that port to Paris. 

Dear Maxine: 

We are just about to go aboard the Imperator. 
Although I am traveling as the Colonel ’s orderly, 
he treats me as well, if not better, than he does, his 
son. 

You remember that he had young Hinckley 
promoted to the rank of Major, a short time ago. 

Well, we had a very amusing, but rather nerve- 
racking experience, before we caught our train in 
Paris. After we said good-bye to you at Clignan- 
court, the Colonel told the driver to take him to a 
number out near the Elysees Palace. It seems that 
this was the residence of Georgette Jarvis, a promi¬ 
nent French woman, who is, in reality, Colonel 
Hinckley’s sweetheart. Through her influence with 
the French Government, the Legion of Honor was 
recently awarded to Colonel Hinckley. She gave 

[ 389 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


generously of her funds, and her own personal ser¬ 
vices, to the French Red Cross, during the war. The 
Colonel fell very much in love with her, when she 
took care of him, after he was wounded at Chemin 
des Dames. He regrets very much that he can not 
take her back to America with him, but since he has 
a wife in Washington, D. C., this is out of the ques¬ 
tion. It took him about three quarters of an hour to 
say good-bye to her. To complicate matters for him, 
some busybody, who returned to the United States 
ahead of him, reported to Mrs. Hinckley, that he 
was desperately in love with a French woman. 
When the War Department made a ruling recently, 
which permits the wives of officers to go to France, 
the Colonel was thrown into a state of perturbation 
and consternation. That was why he cabled Mrs. 
Hinckley so soon, that he was coming home. Judg¬ 
ing from his conversation with his son, and incident¬ 
ally, with myself, since he has given me his con¬ 
fidence rather freely, — I don’t envy him his happi¬ 
ness when he meets his wife again. 

Now, I must tell you about the excitement 
which preceded the catching of our train, before 
we left Paris. As we started to drive away from 
Madame Jarvis’ home, suddenly, it occurred to 
Major Hinckley that he had forgotten his Service 
papers. Of course, you know that he could not go 
aboard any ship, sailing for home, without these 
documents. The Colonel knew that he had taken 
too much time in farewells, and no doubt, lamenta¬ 
tions, when he left Miss Jarvis, — so, when he found 

[ 390 ] 


The Great Adventures of Life 

that his son had forgotten the one thing which was 
all-important, he cursed him up and down. 

We drove through the streets of Paris at a 
maddening, dangerous pace, with little hope that 
we could return to Clignancourt and secure the 
necessary papers before our train would leave. The 
Colonel was terribly upset, because he knew that 
missing our train would mean a delay of, perhaps, 
two or three weeks, before he could get another 
sailing, because steamship space is at such a 
premium now. 

We drove as fast as any French taxi driver 
ever thinks of going, and you know, that is driving 
some. Well, suffice to say, we made our train, but 
in doing so, I can assure you that we risked our lives 
as much, if not more, than we ever risked them upon 
the battlefield. 

The Coloners arm is still lame, — you know, 
this was the result of a wound in the shoulder which 
he received at Chateau Thierry. He has had a 
beautiful Red Cross Danish nurse for some time, be¬ 
fore he left Paris. She has almost cured his arm, 
by the use of massage, and I know, from what he 
says, that he is going to miss her. However, I have 
volunteered to rub his arm with alcohol every night 
before he retires. I am also going to help him, about 
his Army Reports, as he has a great many of them to 
make out on the way home. 

Altogether, I think that we will get along fine. 
He is real human, generous and kind, and I appre¬ 
ciate that it is entirely due to your good offices that I 
know him. 


[ 391 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Let me thank you once more for the many, 
many wonderful things which you have done for 
me, — the greatest of which was your helping me to 
make a firm resolve to live in such a way that I shall 
be able to express in action whatever ability I may 
have, and to apply to my daily living, the splendid, 
constructive, optimistic philosophy with which you 
have inspired me. 

You know it has been aptly said that when 
anyone makes us think well of themselves, we 
admire them; when anyone makes us think well of 
ourselves, we love them. 

I trust that you will see this analogy. 

Faithfully yours always, 

Henry. 

“Bless his heart/’ she thought. “I must have a letter 
ready to send to him before I go to Germany/’ 

That night she left for Coblenz. She spent about a 
month in the American, British and French Armies of Occu¬ 
pation. In the American area, she spoke to the soldiers on 
the subject of their future opportunities in civilian life. Six 
weeks from the date on which Henry sailed, Maxine, her¬ 
self, was bound for the United States. 


[ 392 ] 


CHAPTER XX 


Home Again 

M ARY ANN and Argus stood on the dock at Hoboken. 

They were waiting for the Rotterdam to land. It was 
late in August, — a sultry, depressing, uncomfortable day, 
if one’s feelings and general mental barometer were to be 
gauged by the weather. On the other hand, if the mind was 
filled with joyous anticipation, the discomfort experienced 
was in very small proportion to the exuberance which ensued, 
when the gratifying expectation was realized. 

Argus wagged his tail gleefully. He knew, in his dog- 
heart, that something interesting, and perhaps, even exciting, 
was going to happen. While he was thus indulging himself, 
in his canine prelibations, suddenly, his eyes caught sight of 
his old friend and benefactress, — Maxine. Then, his over¬ 
joyed spirit at once released itself. He wagged his tail with a 
highly increased rate of vibration. He went just as close to 
the railing as he could get, and then waited patiently for his 
one-time mistress, — the first woman who had ever really 
loved him, — to come down the gang-plank. It seemed like an 
age before she appeared, — and then his demonstrations 
equalled in vigor and effusiveness those which he had made in 
honor of his master, when Richard Radcliffe arrived at the 
end of that memorable, transcontinental journey, when he had 
responded to that distant cry of distress, which summoned 
him to Argus’ side. 


[ 393 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


Although Mary Ann was a well-poised creature, she made 
no effort to restrain her emotions now. She could neither hold 
back the tears, nor control the great, out-bursting joy which 
she felt, when she took Maxine closely to her heart and em¬ 
braced her, with as much fondness and tenderness, as even a 
devoted mother could have expressed. 

“I did not let Mr. Radcliffe know that you were coming 
home so soon. I thought that if you wanted him to know it, 
you would cable him, yourself. Just at present he is out West 
on business. He left about two weeks ago, but I don’t believe 
that he intends to be gone very long. He came out to see 
Argus, the night before he went,” explained Mary Ann, as 
soon as they were comfortably seated in a taxi, which was to 
transport them on a ferry to New York. 

‘ ‘You did perfectly right. I received a letter from 
him, only the day before I sailed, stating that he was leaving 
for the Coast, on important business. I did not cable him, 
because I knew that if I did, he would change his plans, which 
might cause him some inconvenience,” answered Maxine. 

Maxine had cabled to no one, except Mary Ann, in 
advance of her arrival; but as soon as she landed, she sent 
telegraphic night letters to both Henry and Richard. 

The following day, about noon, she received both replies 
in the form of day letters. 

Henry’s read: 

WELCOME HOME. YOU WILL FIND SEVERAL LETTERS WAITING 
FOR YOU. I PLAN ON TAKING A REPORTORIAL POSITION ON A 
NEW YORK NEWSPAPER IN SEPTEMBER. THE EDITOR OF WACO 
PAPER IS ARRANGING THIS. AM KEEN TO KNOW YOUR PLANS 
BUT HOPE YOU DECIDE TO REMAIN IN NEW YORK THIS WINTER. 

HENRY. 


[ 394 ] 


Home Again 


Maxine had already received the letters to which Henry 
referred. All of them emphasized that he had determined to 
go in strong for a journalistic career, with the possibility of 
developing his abilities and expanding his interests to such a 
degree that he should be fitted in the future for a career of 
public usefulness. He always spoke of his appreciation of 
Maxine’s interest in him; and of the deep gratitude which he 
felt for the help which she had given him. 

“I esteem gratitude to be the finest flower which grows 
in the garden of all the virtues, and I indulge myself in the 
hope that I shall never be found lacking in this most essential 
attribute of character, ’ ’ were the final words of his last letter. 

Richard’s telegram was as follows: 

YOUR JOY AT BEING IN THE UNITED STATES AGAIN IS ONLY 
EXCEEDED BY MY OWN. WHY DID YOU NOT CABLE ME, SO THAT 
I COULD HAVE MET YOU ON THE ARRIVAL OF YOUR STEAMER? I 
SHALL START EAST AS SOON AS I HEAR YOUR PLANS. MEANWHILE 
BE GOOD TO YOURSELF. RICHARD. 

The ever thoughtful, but practical Richard, had expressed 
a heart full in just fifty words. 

Maxine wanted to see Richard again, but she was no 
nearer to committing herself by promises to him, than she had 
been when she sailed for Prance, nearly seventeen months 
before. In fact, in her own mind, she was not so near to a 
final decision as she had been a few weeks before her de¬ 
parture. 

She knew that the war had brought about some mental 
changes within her. She was no exception to the great 
universal law of change, which had wrought its work on 
multitudes of men and women, who had engaged in war 

[ 395 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


activities. No one could have played a part in that great, 
unparalleled conflict, without experiencing some transition 
of ideals and character. 

No matter how remote one may have been from the 
center of things; no matter how infinitesimal or how great a 
factor one may have been, in that world-wide conflagration, 
everyone who engaged himself, or herself, in any civilian or 
military service appendaged to the war, was destined to 
undergo, in some degree, a change of mind and heart. 

This is a compensating reward for those who are called 
upon to take the hazardous chances, and assume the perilous 
risks of war and its destruction. No one who lends his or her 
whole-hearted efforts in such a world-stirring cause, can remain 
provincial. 

The boy who previous to his service in the world war had 
never been farther away from home than the county seat, will 
always have a tincture of the cosmopolite about him. He will 
see things with a different vision. He will comprehend with 
a broader outlook. 

The trained nurse, whose entire experience had been con¬ 
fined mostly to the homes of peace and the well-to-do will feel 
that her time spent in the service of her country has enlarged 
her sympathies and enfolded her capacity for community 
interests. 

The mother, who gave her all, knows that there is some¬ 
thing so much bigger to give than to give merely one’s self. 

The father, whose father before him had fought in the 
Civil War to save the privileges of freedom and liberty for 
his son, knows now that he has sent his own son forth to fight, 
to save him again; but what is more important, he knows that 
his son has fought to save the privileges of Democracy, for the 
young, idolized grandson. 


[ 396 ] 


Home Agam 


The brother and sister realize that the Gold Star hanging 
above the mantel means that some one fell that they might be 
saved, and that, if they do their duty, they will pass on a 
spirit of appreciation and unselfishness which shall enlarge 
itself like an encircled pebble, thrown into the ocean, until it 
shall become an accelerated force for a constructive, perma¬ 
nent peace. 

The girl, whose sweetheart heard the clarion call of death, 
knows that there is something in the great scheme of things, 
which calls to us louder than our own selfish desire for human 
happiness, and the gratification of human wants. 

Indeed, there never could be a permanent peace of mind 
and soul, without the inner conflict of the sensual and the 
selfish against the divine and the spiritual, in all of us. 

Disastrous as the awful consequences of war have been, 
who shall say that the heights of progress in the evolution of 
civilization could have been achieved, without the slaughter, 
bloodshed and sacrifices of war? 

As humanity turns its efforts in the direction of the 
achievement of a permanent world peace, it will know the 
discipline of mind and character, which it has attained, 
through the processes of war; and it will be better prepared to 
initiate and develop the progressive, constructive pursuits of 
peace, for there will be, necessarily, much sacrifice in the 
achievement of peace, — only the sacrifices contributory to, 
and involved in the processes of peace will be economic, rather 
than military. 

We shall have to rebuild our institutions, — our social 
organizations must be remade by gradual processes; our 
industrial fabric must be rewoven; our educational systems 
remodelled and revised, on a more practical working basis; 
our political structure must needs be re-invigorated; and our 

[ 397 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


humanitarianism must learn to function so efficiently that 
philanthropy will be eliminated by a self-respecting civiliza¬ 
tion, which shall look upon our so-called charities as a relic 
of a partially civilized age, which because of its own defi¬ 
ciencies was preyed upon by social parasites. 

Indeed, every charitable organization and benevolent in¬ 
stitution is an indictment of our social system; but such 
societies can not be dispensed with until they have outgrown 
their usefulness; and they can never do this, until a more 
vigorous, progressive, economic social order shall establish 
new standards and create stronger incentives, which shall 
encourage and inspire all members of society to make super¬ 
lative efforts for themselves. 

When this time comes, order will come out of chaos, and 
we shall have peace instead of war. 

Yes, the late war had changed us all. Maxine admitted to 
herself that she, like the others, had changed. She did not 
feel quite sure just what her own mind would be, and what 
her heart would say, when she saw Richard again. She could 
only tell when the time came. Would Richard have changed, 
too? If he had not changed, then he would press her for a 
decision, as he had never done before. Had she herself really 
changed, as much as she thought ? Or, when she saw Richard 
again, would all the old love for him inflame her soul, as it had 
in the early days of their unconventional relationship ? 

After all, would she not be a little disappointed if Richard 
really had changed in his sentiment toward her? Would she 
really want to live, forever, without him? All these questions 
Maxine asked herself, over and over again, before she an¬ 
swered Richard’s night letter. 

She assured him in her message that she was planning on 
spending the winter in New York, engaging herself in profes- 

[ 398 ] 


Home Again 


sional writing, as several publishers had solicited her contribu¬ 
tions, both for magazine and book publication. She would, 
however, be delighted to see him whenever he found it con¬ 
venient to come to New York. 

Within ten days, Richard Radcliffe had put his affairs in 
such condition that he could be in the great metropolis. 

Maxine met him first for a dinner engagement at the 
Hotel Belmont. 

“When you left you looked so good to me that I did not 
think you could ever improve yourself. 

“You’ve not only held your own, but you have, — well, 
damn it, I must say, you look the best I ever saw you, — you 
bewitching, enchanting Circe, — only you are different from 
Circe, in that you gain your power from the help of good 
spirits and not evil ones,” said Richard, directly after they 
were seated at the table. 

“Now, there you go; you know very well that you always 
over-estimated me. Now, let us talk of something else,” sug¬ 
gested Maxine. 

“No, I have never estimated you at your true value, until 
I had to live, from day to day, without seeing you. Then I 
found out how utterly barren and dreary, life was without 
you,” Richard assured her. 

“I’m sure that after this long absence, you are going to 
please me, by talking about something besides myself,” an¬ 
swered Maxine. 

“All right. Tell me whether you have missed me. I want 
to know about that,” said Richard. 

‘ 1 Of course, I’ve missed you. How could I help it ? Do 
you think that I could leave an appreciative Pal like yourself, 
for more than a year, without missing you? 

“Yes, I have actually been homesick for you, many times. 

[ 399 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


“ Often did I think of you, when I needed you to en¬ 
courage me in my work, and then, too, I needed you to make 
me laugh. Whenever I had an amusing experience, I always 
missed the opportunity of not being able to tell you about it. 
For instance, one morning when I was in Dijon, I asked for a 
bath towel, in what I thought was perfectly good French, and 
they brought me a cocktail— at least, something which tasted 
very much like one.” 

Richard laughed heartily. 

“Now, tell me a good story. I’m just hungry for one of 
your stories,” Maxine insisted. 

“Well, let’s see. There is a fellow in Mount Olympic, 
who has a fish market. In the window, he had a sign, which 
read: ‘ Fresh fish sold here. ’ A customer came along and said 
to him: ‘What do you have the word “Here” there for? 
You aren’t selling them anywhere else, are you?’ In a little 
while, another customer came along, and said: ‘What do you 
have the word ‘ ‘ Sold ’ ’ in the sign for ? You aren’t giving them 
away, are you?’ So he removed both the words ‘Here’ and 
‘Sold’. Very soon, another man entered the market. ‘What 
do you have that word “Fresh” there for? You aren’t 
selling any stale fish, are you ? ’ So the man who had the fish 
to sell, took the word ‘Fresh’ down. In a few minutes more, 
the fourth customer came into the store. ‘What in Hell do 
you have that word “Fish” there for, when you can smell 
them for four blocks away?’ he ejaculated, furiously.” 

“That’s very good. I told a great many of your stories, 
during my talks to the boys in France,” replied Maxine. 
“And I can tell you now that they always brought a laugh.” 

‘ ‘ Of course, I’m anxious to hear all about your work over 
there, but I don’t suppose that you want to talk about it. 
They say that very few people, who have served in France, 

[ 400 ] 


Home Again 


care to talk of their experiences. But tell me, what did you 
think of our Ninety-First Division?” 

“They were a noble, God-given body of men. Just think, 
they had been only a few weeks on French soil and were 
scarcely acclimated, when they were hurled into action in that 
awful wilderness of underbrush, and barbed wire, and threat¬ 
ening death. 

“I spoke to several hundred of those boys, twenty-four 
hours before they went to the front, to face grim death. As 
I looked into their faces, I knew that they could not lose. I 
could read in their eyes, the cool nerve; the unconquerable 
spirit; the Punch which enabled them to face, fearlessly, the 
advancing Boche, from three sides. 

“And looking more deeply into their determined counte¬ 
nances, I could read even more. They seemed to say: ‘Yes, 
tomorrow night, at this time, many of us will be gone; but 
death is nothing. To die with honor is such an enviable 
victory; you shall have no reason, either here or back in the 
United States, to be anything but proud of us. 

“ ‘Those of us who go, shall have the privilege of joining 
those brave souls, who have preceded us, and we shall unite 
with them to return and reinforce those who remain to con¬ 
tinue the great struggle. 

“ ‘Indeed, we shall help them to the end. They shall 
know no defeat, for our myriad numbers and mighty hosts, 
shall assist them from on High, until the final victory is 
won.’ ” 

“Yes, that was a tremendous victory,” echoed Richard. 
‘ ‘ In the very first thrust, the American Divisions were pitted 
against the crack Division of the German Army, — the First 
Prussian Guards. 

“It was the furious attack of our own Pine Tree boys 


[ 401 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


that drove back the Prussians, until they were out of line 
with the other German Divisions. Within four days, our boys 
reached their objective, and won the attention and applause of 
an astonished world,” concluded Richard, with pride. 

“Yes, you have every reason to rejoice at the fighting 
spirit born of the rugged mountains and the noble pines. It 
saved the day at Epinonville, Very, Eclis Fontaine, Gesnes, 
and Landrecourt! ’ ’ 

“You have done a work of inestimable value, Maxine, and 
some time, when you feel more in the mood than you do now, 
I want you to tell me more about it; but, just at present, I 
have something else on my mind,” said Richard. 

“Well, what is it?” inquired Maxine. 

“Tell me,” said Richard, as he bent forward over the 
table in the Belmont dining-room, and looked searchingly, 
into Maxine’s lovely blue eyes, “has there been any one else? 
Is there any one else?” he asked timidly. 

“Well,” she said, rather self-consciously and evasively, 
“no one has taken your place, if that is what you mean. No 
one could do that.” And her eyes fell. 

“No, I mean,—If I must make my question more pointed, 
have you been interested in any one in particular, since you 
went away?” 

Just then, the waiter brought the salad, and Richard, 
who was the most immaculate of men, with the courtliest of 
manners, drew his right sleeve through the Thousand Island 
dressing, and looked as embarrassed as a school boy, trying to 
find out, if his girl-sweetheart has had another beau. 

“Well, yes, in a way,” replied Maxine, equivocally. 

“In a way,” he repeated, thoughtfully, his voice rising. 
“Well, just what does that mean?” he inquired, smilingly. 
“Do you want to tell me who it was, — and in what way you 

[ 402 ] 


Home Agam 


were interested?” queried Richard, with his true sense of 
delicacy, now that he had discovered that there was another 
man on earth, who had come in for any part of Maxine’s 
thought and attention. 

“Well, I met a young man, now only twenty-six years 
of age on his last birthday,— just a boy, you know,— but a 
very dear boy, with a very earnest purpose in life, -— a splen¬ 
did education and, well, more than his share of natural ability 
for comprehending world situations and big things. 

‘ 4 Our mutual interests co-ordinated and, well, — we have 
just been very good friends,— the best of friends,— that’s 
all.” 

“Oh, I see!” said Richard. “I knew when you went 
away that you would never escape receiving the attention and 
genuine heart-interest of some keen-minded man; but I did 
not think it would be one younger than yourself.” 

“Why not?” questioned Maxine. 

“Because a woman of your versatility of mind and ac¬ 
complishments should help some worthy, ambitious man of 
experience to round out a career of usefulness and distinction, 
where it will be possible for you to share his rewards and 
honors; instead of giving your energy and time to a young 
man, who is only building his foundation. 

“In such a circumstance, as that to which you have just 
referred, where a young man has his future before him, to 
make and to build, an older woman who marries him, if she is 
energetic and ambitious, will work to the full capacity of her 
strength; and in the end, as a rule, some other younger 
woman comes into his life and shares with him his final 
success and triumphs.” 

Maxine knew that Richard had spoken the truth, so far 
[ 403 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


as the majority of cases were concerned, where the woman in 
the partnership was older than the man. 

Then she spoke impressively. 

“Why, Bichard,—you are jumping to conclusions. I 
have said nothing to indicate that I have given my heart to 
this young man. You pre-suppose too much, r—entirely too 
much. ' 9 

“Do I? Well then, I am very glad, if it is not yet 
serious. 

“Let us adjourn to the mezzanine floor. I did not get 
theatre tickets tonight, because I thought we would both want 
to give ourselves over to conversation, after this long separa¬ 
tion/ ' 

“You were quite right/' said Maxine. “I should have 
been disappointed if you had planned to take in any amuse¬ 
ments. ’ ’ 

On the parlor floor, in a secluded corner, by themselves, 
Maxine re-introduced the subject, which they had last dis¬ 
cussed at the dinner table. 

“You know, Richard,'' she said, half apologetically, “I 
could not be away for so long and endure the strain and the 
awful monotony of the last few months of the war, and the 
Armistice period, without some diversion, — and this young 
man, — well, he made himself so agreeable that I could not 
refuse his company / 9 

“I understand/' said Richard. “You owe me no 
apologies. 

“I wanted you to find whatever amusement you could, 
over there. You needed diversion to relieve the tension of 
your strenuous work, and I am glad that this young man 
brought you the right kind of pastime/' 

[ 404 ] 


Home Again 


“And now then,” said Maxine, half-laughingly, “didn't 
you have any little play-mate, while I was gone?” 

This question was a surprise to Richard, but he was a man 
who always had himself well in hand. 

“No, — not really,” he replied, as he seemed fairly to 
paw the air for words. 

“Now, go on and tell me just how flirtatious and way¬ 
ward you have been,” she said. 

“My experience, as you say of your own, has been noth¬ 
ing at all serious. The head of the Red Cross in our city, 
Mrs. Denton Bates, is a very charming, sensible woman. When 
I was back in Mount Olympic, she called on me for some 
assistance, in connection with her work, and of course, I was 
glad to give her all the help that I could. 

“Mrs. Bates’ husband is a man thirty years older than 
herself; very inactive, and completely out of things, so to 
speak. 

“Well, — she and I were, somehow, — thrown a great 
deal into each other’s society, — especially in the work of 
conducting a campaign to secure funds for the Red Cross, — 
and well, —we had just a little flirtation; — that was all.” 

“I’m very glad, indeed, Richard, that you found some 
one who entertained you and saved you from being bored, 
although I can never imagine your growing tired of your¬ 
self, because you have so many resources within yourself, and 
such a saving sense of humor. Then, too, you invariably think 
of some thing worth while.” 

“Now there, Maxine! You always have thought and said 
such pretty, artistic things about my thinking, as well as my 
actions. Just now, I have a really wicked thought.” 

[ 405 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


“If it isn’t too wicked, may I know what it is?” she 
inquired. 

“Yes, hut before I tell you, I shall have to preface my 
statement, by a story. 

“I think that I must have erred somewhere in seeking 
your favor, otherwise, this young Texan would not have 
engaged your interest, to such a degree. 

“I remind myself of the story of a colored soldier, who 
always feared being sent ‘over the top.’ 

“One day, he said to his Major: ‘I just knows that every 
time I goes over dat top, it’s gwine to be the las’ time for poor 
Rastus.’ 

“ ‘Now, Rastus,’ said the Major, ‘you know when you 
go toward the firing line, you must never proceed in a straight 
line. You must always approach the front line, by going Zig- 
Zag, — Zig-Zag, — Zig-Zag, — so! ’ — and he illustrated to 
Rastus, the method which the latter should use. 

“Within a month, the Major found Rastus in a hospital, 
badly wounded; battered and torn, from his feet to his head. 
As the Major approached Rastus’ cot, he found the languish¬ 
ing, colored man wrapped in bandages, and moaning with 
pain. 

“ ‘ Why, Rastus,’ he exclaimed, ‘you don’t mean to say 
that after all my instructions to you, that you went straight 
toward the firing-line! Why didn’t you Zig-Zag, as I told 
you to do ? ’ 

“ ‘Yes, Majah,’ he said, ‘I shuah did Zig-Zag. But the 
trouble was, I zigged where I ought to zagged, and I zagged 
where I ought to zigged.’ 

1 ‘ I think that has been the way that I have done, — I 
have zigged where I should have zagged, and zagged where I 

[ 406 ] 


Home Again 


should have zigged. But the really wicked thought, to which I 
referred, is comprised in this: 

“I would like, at this moment, to carry you away sur¬ 
reptitiously where that Texan could never see you again. 

‘ 4 1 wish I had the right to do so; or that you would say 
the words, which would authorize me to proceed to establish 
that right for myself, by legal processes." 

“Richard, I had hoped that, perhaps, during my absence 
you and Eleanor would come together again ;■—because I 
can not yet bring myself to the conclusion that it would ever 
work out right, if I were to make myself the cause of a per¬ 
manent disunion between you and your wife," said Maxine. 

“Well, my matrimonial situation is the most tragic event 
in my life," said Richard, referring to his domestic affairs, 
for the first time that evening. 

“It is indeed pathetic," he continued. “I admit that at 
times, my heart is so wounded by the hopelessness of it all, 
— and by my apparent powerlessness to change matters, that 
I am engulfed by despair. 

“After you went to France and I returned home, Eleanor 
made every possible effort, which a woman of pride and breed¬ 
ing could consistently make, to win back my affections. 

“Knowing that you felt as you did when you went away, 
I tried as much as my heart would permit me, for your sake, as 
well as Eleanor's, — to respond to her renewed efforts; but 
it was to no purpose. 

“Now, I believe that Eleanor realizes that it is an ir¬ 
remediable disaster, — that our marriage, from the first, has 
been a mistake. I must do her the justice of saying, however, 
that she has wrought almost a complete transformation in her 
disposition, — but some way, there has been erected an insur¬ 
mountable barrier between us, which prevents our meeting on 

[ 407 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

the common ground of mutual interest, compatibility and 
affection.” 

“Richard, do you really mean that it is so hopeless as all 
that?” inquired Maxine. 

“I believe it is. When affection is once subjected to a 
strain for any cause, it can seldom be restored. Affection is 
only elastic, when it bounds forward. It loses its elasticity 
on the rebound. 

“It can not batter against the waves of a storm-tossed 
ship of mis-spent years and unhappiness. 

“A wrecked married life is just about as hopeless as a 
drowning man, who has gone down for the third time; — and 
many married men and women have gone down for the third 
time, too, on the ship of matrimonial despair, in their first 
married venture. 

“The only saving feature of their ship-wrecked situation 
is that they have not sunk in the turbulent sea of discord 
three times in rapid succession. Between times, they emerge 
to live, to go on hoping that somewhere, somehow, sometime, 
the flower of love and romance will bud and bloom for them 
perpetually. 

1 ‘ But alas! — for most of us, this flower never comes to 
us in its full perfection of bloom. It is like the elusive rain¬ 
bow;— it exhibits all the brilliant lustre and attraction of 
all the virtues and enticements to happiness, — but when we 
reach out for it,-—it disappears. 

‘ 1 1 have hoped ever since you went away, that you would 
return, and that I would find my rainbow to be real, — unlike 
all the others, which I have seen and of which I have read and 
heard. 

“Now, tell me,—do you really like that Texan, or have you 
just been teasing me a little?” inquired Richard, earnestly. 

[ 408 ] 



Home Again 


“As I told you, Richard, neither of us is serious. We are 
good friends, — very good friends. 

“But if you had been an entirely free man, I presume I 
would not have permitted myself to become so much inter¬ 
ested in young Mr. Strong as I did.” 

“Very well,” said Richard. “I see that I must continue 
to pursue my rainbow, still hoping to find all its alluring 
beauty and golden pots of precious treasures at the end. 
However, all the treasure which I want it to contain is a 
wealth of affection and devotion.” 

Richard spent about a month in New York. He and 
Maxine took in all the best theatrical attractions, including 
the liveliest, musical comedies. They dined together, fre¬ 
quently, both at her apartment and in the best down-town 
restaurants. 

Richard’s own business interests, as well as those of 
Worthington-Hargreaves, demanded that he should wind up 
his affairs in his Washington and New York offices, and return 
to the Pacific Coast. His services were no longer necessary to 
the Government, as he had terminated, most successfully, his 
administrative career in the department which he had so 
efficiently managed. 

In commenting upon his resignation from the Federal 
Office, which he had held, he said to Maxine: “I anticipate 
now, that the Government ought to be able to diminish its 
expenses considerably, — since so many of the Dollar-A-Year 
men have resigned. Personally, I am behind several hundred 
thousand dollars, because of the time which I have given to the 
country. I mean by that, — that if I had used this time, for 
the purpose of increasing my own fortune, I could have added 
a substantial sum to it. As it is, however, I have more than 
any man really needs, — especially, if he has no children to 

[ 409 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


inherit his property. I do not regret anything which I have 
done to help Uncle Sam to win this war. I shall always look 
back upon it, as the redeeming feature of what might other¬ 
wise have been, a rather selfish, money-getting career,” 
Richard concluded. 

“No, your sense of justice, love for mankind and country, 
have always been superior to any thought of yourself, or your 
own ambitions,” quickly answered Maxine. 

When Richard left for the West, he carried in his mind 
an imprint of Maxine’s oft-repeated words, in the last few 
conversations between them: 

“We shall see; — we shall only have to wait, and watch 
and see. Let us hope for the end, which will be best for all of 
us, — for you and me, — and for her. ’ ’ 


[ 410 ] 


CHAPTER XXI 


Separated Pals 

‘ ‘ T3 ILL, here’s that young fellow from Texas, I was telling 
X) you about! Take him on and put him through. ’ ’ Such 
were the instructions given by the Managing Editor of a big 
New York Daily. He was speaking to his City Editor, — a 
rather nonchalant, short, stocky man, whose discerning eyes, 
shielded by a green shade, quickly took in the physiognomy of 
the Texan. 

* ‘ There is to be a yacht race on Long Island Sound today. 
It is somewhat late in the season for it ; but there are several 
prominent New York men, who have yachts entered, — so I’m 
going to send you down there to get the story, ’ ’ remarked the 
City Editor, casually, so casually, in fact, that Henry won¬ 
dered whether the Editor knew that he had given him a very 
trying assignment. As a matter of fact, Henry had never 
seen,— at close range,— a real, Honest-to-Heaven yacht. He 
had never been to Galveston but once, and besides, very few 
Texans owned yachts. Whenever a Texan accumulated suf¬ 
ficient wealth for such a luxury, and could afford the leisure 
for such a pastime, he generally moved to New York. Henry 
had seen scows, yawls,:— all kinds of flat-bottomed boats, with 
broad square ends; sail-boats, schooners, barges and steam¬ 
boats. He would not have dreaded to write a story about a 
prairie schooner, because he had heard his father tell many 
tales of the huge, canvas-covered wagons, which were used 

[ 411 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


in early days by emigrants crossing the prairies. But, when 
it came to the matter of writing up a yacht race, — well, 
nothing could have been more dreadful or formidable at the 
very beginning of his metropolitan newspaper career. It was 
the only time in his life when he had actually been fearful of 
anything; but there was nothing else to do, but to go ahead 
and face the music. 

He arrived at Northport just in time to witness the pre¬ 
liminary enthusiasm which always precedes such occasions, 
where real Commodores sail beautiful, white-winged craft in 
noteworthy cup races. 

In the interesting group of reporters, were men of all 
ages and all kinds of experience. They were ready at the 
moment to record every incident of interest, — trained to the 
game so well that the most trifling circumstance did not escape 
their attention. With the exception of Henry, these news¬ 
paper men had all seen many years of service. 

Henry stood, for a moment, by the side of a gray-headed 
man, who looked to be a very representative journalist. He 
glanced at Henry, and immediately sized the latter up for a 
green-horn. 

After an inter-change of some rather commonplace re¬ 
marks, the mild-mannered, thoroughly sophisticated reporter 
said: 

“Well, my boy, if you are new at this business, and you 
need a tip, or a line, come along with me.” 

Much to Henry’s delight, his newly-made friend proved 
to be a close associate of Beverly Woodstock, who owned one 
of the most magnificent looking vessels of state. The older 
man took Henry aboard this sylph-like, gorgeous craft, which 
made its way through the water with such graceful ease and 
exciting speed that it soon out-distanced the bulkier, more 

[ 412 ] 


Separated Pals 


massive vessels. Henry’s elation of spirits, over the easy 
victory, was scarcely exceeded by the joy of the owner himself. 

So much first-hand information from the ‘ inside ’ afforded 
an abundance of material for a raw, inexperienced cub. Henry 
went back to town in the company of his recently found bene¬ 
factor. When he turned in his story the Managing Editor 
concealed his surprise, and only gave a grunt in acknowledg¬ 
ment. 

It was to Maxine that Henry first went, to relate the story 
of his initial achievement. He wanted someone to tell him 
just how well he had done, and Maxine was a past master in 
the art of praising sincerely, but not fulsomely, the successful 
efforts of others. 

The mutual interests of Maxine and Henry became more 
earnest and intensified, as they continued to share the same 
tastes and cherish ideals, which satisfied the standards of 
both of them. 

They were both writing now, and although, Henry was 
only a reporter, many of his daily experiences were of much 
interest to Maxine, who kept herself very busy preparing 
manuscripts to meet the requisitions of editors and publishers. 

Maxine extended to Henry her old-time hospitality, and 
he found himself dining with her very frequently, — either 
at her apartment when he was her guest, or at a down-town 
hotel, where he always acted as host to Maxine. 

Henry made his home with a matron on University Hill, 
who had filled her house with post-graduate students of 
Columbia University. 

He was very anxious to broaden his associations, and 
enlarge his points of contact, socially. While he had the most 
genteel manners, and was an agreeable and versatile conversa¬ 
tionalist, he was thoroughly unsophisticated, so far as the at- 

[ 413 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


mosphere of cosmopolitan drawing-rooms, was concerned. 
Again, Maxine proved to be his helpful and constant adviser. 
She knew many of the most influential men and women in 
New York,— to many of whom she introduced Henry. 

It did not take him long to learn that when he attended a 
piffling Pink Tea, he had only to pay pretty compliments to 
the mothers of the young debutantes, to win for himself envi¬ 
able attention and invitations to call on their charming young 
daughters. 

In his heart he was as loyal to Maxine, as on the day when 
he had first met her in France; but his social curiosity actu¬ 
ated him with a desire to go about occasionally; to which 
pastime, Maxine, with her usual good humor, was heartily 
sympathetic. It happened, that many times, Henry was in¬ 
vited by the younger set to places to which Maxine was not 
bidden. Through her introductions, he received numerous 
invitations into many of the homes of those noted in the 
Blue Book and Social Register. When he went once, he was 
always invited again. His natural savoir faire carried him 
along on the highest crest of the social waves; although he 
never neglected his work, for the pleasures of society. 

In the front page of his note-book, he had written this 
quotation from Carlyle: “Labor, wide as the Universe, has its 
summit in Heaven. It is the noblest thing yet discovered be¬ 
neath God’s skies. In idleness, alone, there is despair.” 

In his reportorial work, he had covered everything from 
railroad wrecks and murder cases to the divorces of prominent 
society people, and the work of political organizations. Within 
three months, he was promoted from his place as a reporter, 
to a position as special political writer, because he had shown 
a remarkable aptitude for gaining access to political informa¬ 
tion, by winning the confidence of the most active, prominent 

[ 414 ] 


Separated Pals 


men in the public life of New York City and State. He 
carried on his new work so creditably, that by the time 
another six months had rolled around, he was, for the second 
time, put forward by his Managing Editor. In his new duties, 
he was to assume, for his newspaper, the direction of publicity 
in the Presidential Campaign of 1920. He had earned this 
preference by his unusual facility, in adapting himself to the 
new and tense political situation, which followed the nomina¬ 
tion of the candidates. 

He distinguished himself for his ability to secure Special 
Feature Political Interviews, and in getting for his paper the 
facts concerning the true alignment of political characters 
and movements several hours, — sometimes, even days and 
weeks, before the other papers had awakened to certain wiles 
and crafts and manoeuvres in the mental processes of those 
who figure most conspicuously in the management and control 
of great national campaigns. 

He seemingly never stopped and never slept, when there 
was any possibility of getting an unusual piece of news. 

On one occasion, when there was an important, political 
manager, who was temporarily in Washington, D. C., whom 
Henry knew to possess information of such a close nature that 
he was denying himself to all interviewers, until the proper 
time should arrive for giving the facts to the public, he de¬ 
cided to make an effort to see the party leader, before the 
latter should leave for the West. 

The last train from New York for Washington, which 
would have enabled Henry to fulfill his purpose, had left, 
before Henry was aware that the rapidly moving political 
meteor was in the Capital City. 

Suddenly, it occurred to Henry, that one of the couriers, 
whom he had known in France, was now in the aerial mail 

[ 415 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


service, and that he was to fly a mail-plane that afternoon 
from Mineola, Long Island to Washington, D. C. 

Henry rushed to the air mail field, arriving there just 
in time to be told that there was no room in the plane for him. 
At this instant, the pilot, who wanted to prove his willingness 
to serve his old-time friend, made the suggestion that Henry 
might lash himself to one wing of the machine. 

“I know of your courage, and while I would not permit 
any other man, except an expert airman, to undertake this, 
I have no fears but that you will ‘come through 

The flight was at the rate of one hundred twenty miles an 
hour. They arrived in Washington in one hour and fifty-four 
minutes. Henry sent his card to the old, political warrior. 
On it he wrote: “I have flown on the wing of an air-plane, 
that I may have a few minutes of your valuable time, and a 
few words of your matchless, political utterance and advice.” 

The strategic, political manager was so pleased by 
Henry’s venturesomeness and courage, that he readily acqui¬ 
esced to his wishes. Henry secured an exclusive interview for 
his newspaper, which contained information in advance of 
that given to any other publicity representative, or news 
association, in the country. 

When Henry turned in his next story, with its brilliant 
analysis of economic conditions, and its sage-like forecast of 
political events, — he was again advanced, — this time, to a 
very important position as editorial writer, which carried with 
it a state and nation-wide prestige. He continued, however, 
to direct the management of publicity, for the Presidential 
Campaign, which was now in progress. 

Maxine was the first one to whom he always turned, when 
either good or ill fortune came to him. Indeed, he had always 
done this, ever since he had first known her, because if he was 

[ 416 ] 


Separated Pals 


depressed, or discouraged, she always gave him just the en¬ 
couragement, which he needed, and if he had met with success, 
in any undertaking, she always furnished him with further 
inspiration to continue his efforts, with unabated zeal toward a 
higher goal. 

“I knew you could, — I knew you would distinguish 
yourself!” she said joyously, when Henry told her of his 
recent promotion. 

“And now, right now,—begin your own campaign, 
which shall in ten, or fifteen, or twenty years, from now put 
you in one of the highest places, if not the most exalted place, 
in the United States. 

“I know that you have the innate capabilities, which 
properly developed and practically used, will bring you the 
opportunity to serve your country, with all the ability, and 
heart, and conscience, which are your natural God-given 
endowments. ’ ’ 

Henry listened. Again Maxine was talking, and unlike 
many women, when she talked, she always said something; •— 
something worth holding to; — worth remembering, — worth 
serious consideration. 

“I am going to try, — to try my very best, for your sake, 
and for my mother’s sake, to fill with honor, some day, a 
place of great usefulness. 

“And may God grant that if much power is ever given 
to me, that I shall not use it for the gratification, or glorifica¬ 
tion, of myself. 

“I want to take for my examples the greatest national 
leaders, whose work I know and understand best, — our own 
Washington, as the founder of our great republic and the 
spokesman of the Non-entangling Alliance Doctrine, — the 
true spiritual, democrat and aristocrat, who refused to let us 

[ 417 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


make an Empire, because with his big, noble understanding of 
government, he could see only democracy, as the true, guiding 
force of America; and in this he proved that the greatest of 
aristocrats are always the truest democrats. 

‘‘1 want to be governed by the lofty spirit of our measure¬ 
less and matchless Lincoln, who saw not himself, — who 
thought not of his own self-exaltation,— but who thought 
always of the United States;— its unity of spirit, purpose and 
action, — and of the importance of the continuity of our 
national interests and ideals. 

“His greatest expressed wish that ‘government of the 
people, by the people and for the people, shall not perish from 
the earth/ gives him the premier place, as our greatest 
democrat. 

“Lastly, if ever I deserve to be clothed with power such 
as you wish for me, I hope that I may follow humbly, but 
confidently, the principles and teachings of the Greatest 
Teacher of All Mankind, who made every one in the world 
free, if they would but accept their freedom, by wearing the 
Easy Yoke of Meekness and Humility and Loving Kindness 
toward their fellow-creatures and their fellow-men. 

“That is the supreme task of the moment; that is the 
great work for all of us, for all time,” concluded Henry. 

“Yes, you are right; and when I think of you at twenty- 
seven years of age, with this vision, I am filled with higher 
expectations for you, than I have ever dared to entertain for 
anyone else.” 

“You remember,” said Henry, “that I once told you that 
you merited a rich reward for all your unselfish interest in 
me. 

“I have not sufficient self-assurance to be able to promise 
[418] 


Separated Pals 


you such a reward, in the way of worldly honor, as I covet for 
you. To do so, would he the height of folly. 

“You are inordinately ambitious for me. There is no 
question about that. And since you are ambitious for me, I 
am aspiring for myself. I do not know whether my ambition 
will out-run my talents. 

“Sometimes, when you have talked to me, Maxine, about 
my future career, I have been just a little jealous, thinking 
that you thought more of the ability, which you believe I 
possess, than you do of me.” 

“Why, Henry, do you mean what you say? I do not 
understand, ’ ’ said Maxine, slowly. 

“Forgive me, Maxine, if I have wounded you. I could 
give you no pain or mental anguish, without inflicting even 
more severe wounds and deeper heart-aches, upon myself. 

“I know now that I have been too hasty; — I know that 
I have listened to the poisoned voice of jealousy; —• jealousy 
of myself, — of my own limited talents. Isn’t it absurd, that 
a man should be jealous of himself ? It is more ludicrous than 
pathetic, however, — really quite laughable. 

“I shall never repeat this indiscretion, Maxine; this 
great error, — if you will forgive me for all time, for my 
mistake,” concluded Henry, earnestly. 

“Indeed, you know that you were forgiven before you 
sought forgiveness. Anyway, you said nothing for which you 
should ask to be forgiven. 

“You know that you were forgiven before you said 
exactly what you did, because I know now that you are 
really human, — and I was beginning to doubt it, when you 
talked so eloquently and glowingly of things Divine.” 

“All right,” said Henry, “again for the ten thousandth 

[ 419 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

time, you have earned my gratitude, by your broad-minded¬ 
ness and large-heartedness.” 

“No, Henry, I have given you only that which you, your¬ 
self, have attracted and earned, through your own merits of 
character and your own big heart, ’ ’ said Maxine, reassuringly. 

“You are the soul of generosity,” said Henry, while he 
gazed admiringly into her soft, blue eyes. It seemed to him 
that her face was more radiantly expressive with soul-beauty, 
than he had ever seen it. Her natural, high color was pleas¬ 
ingly subdued, and her features artistically illumined, by the 
glowing light which was disseminated through a soft blue 
Georgette lamp-shade,—the product of Maxine’s own handi¬ 
work. 

“My first human impulses,” continued Henry, “tell me, 
as you speak, to make more selfish claims for myself than the 
blessing of your precious friendship, which is a God-send to 
anyone. 

“No matter what my own private opinion of myself may 
be, I only hope that, in your judgment, I merit and have 
earned, a greater reward than I have yet claimed for myself. 

‘ ‘ Maxine, ’ ’ he went on, — his voice almost trembling, — 
“you must know that I love you, — that, — well, — that I 
have always loved you, since that night when, in the cold, 
dreary hut, ‘Over There’ you stood on the sod-floor, after your 
inspiring message to us boys, and let me talk to you. 

“It seemed to me, that night, that you had been sent to 
me, directly from Heaven; and it has seemed so ever since.” 

‘ ‘ Henry, ’ ’ said Maxine, as soon as she could summon her 
powers of speech, ‘ ‘ I have tried not to love you; — tried very 
hard not to love you, — and I am still trying. You must 
know why.” 


[ 420 ] 


Separated Pals 


“Why?” said Henry, his voice rising, with a flush of 
excitement. 

“Because,” said Maxine, “I can not think that it is best. 
You seem to have forgotten, for the moment, Henry, that 
there is a difference of about seven years in our ages, — an 
ultimate handicap; an inevitable barrier to a permanently, 
happy marriage.” 

“Why should those few years, — a mere accident of 
birth, — separate us for all time ? ’ ’ Henry questioned, im¬ 
patiently. 

“I know,” said Maxine. “But when you have added a 
few more years to your own age, you will know better what 
I mean. 

“A woman may often times be happy with a man many 
years her senior, but personally, I have never known a mar¬ 
riage of enduring happiness, — a really, successful marriage, 
where the wife was as much as seven years, or more, older than 
her husband. 

“It does not seem to be a law of nature. I am afraid to 
undertake it, — afraid that I should make no better success 
of such a nuptial contract than have scores of others, of whom 
I have known,” protested Maxine. 

“Well, what are you afraid of?” queried Henry. 

“Candidly, I am afraid that I should not always hold 
you. Afraid that some day, in spite of your impeccable 
standards of honor, that I should lose you to another woman, 
— a younger woman. 

“You will retain your interest and masculine attractive¬ 
ness long after my own few charms have become passe.” 

“No, you will never lose your prime; you will never even 
become faded, —not in my eyes, at least. And with your 

[ 421 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


superior mentality and exuberance of spirits, you will never, 
never become uninteresting. 

“Your imperishable, intellectual charms and spiritual 
qualities will become enhanced, as your years increase/ ’ 
Henry assured her. 

“That is all very generous of you, but let us be frank, 
for a moment, painfully frank, if need be. 

“Now, what would you do, Henry, with your virile, 
assertive personality, both physical and mental, — that is, 
what attitude toward me do you think you would take, if I 
should ever cease to interest you, so far as my physical charms 
are concerned?” 

“Maxine, that is almost cruel. You over-estimate the 
importance, in my own mind, of things physical and material. 
I shall always aim to keep a correct balance, — a true sense of 
proportion, in regard to these matters.’’ 

“I grant you that, Henry. But just yield me, for one 
moment, the supposition that it would be possible, years 
hence, for you to lose interest in me, because of the loss of 
my physical attractiveness.” 

“Well,” said Henry, “if you want me to be frank with 
you, — and you say you do, — if my past observations furnish 
me with a true index to your character, I think that, under 
such circumstances as you have mentioned, that you would 
cultivate the friendship of any other woman in whom I 
became interested, — and not only that, I believe you would 
give me such consideration, that you would treat her most 
kindly and hospitably, to prevent the wagging of the tongues 
of gossips and scandal among the busy-bodies.” 

Maxine was almost non-plussed by Henry’s frank matter- 
of-fact reply. She made no effort to conceal her surprise. As 
soon as she could resume her composure, she said: 

[ 422 ] 


Separated Pals 


“I shall neither affirm nor deny the truth of your 
prophecy, because, of course, I do not know exactly what I 
would do, under such circumstances as you mention. 

‘‘You certainly predict for me a mellow, — ripe, — sweet 
spirit for my later years; and I appreciate your generous 
references to my good nature; but I think it best to dismiss 
the subject, without further comment, at present. Let us talk 
of something else.” 

“It is no time to change the subject, until we have dis¬ 
posed of it, Maxine. I hope you do not mean to say that you 
consider our marriage an impossibility. ’’ 

“No,— not exactly that; but I do want to think it over 
very carefully. We must not make any hasty decision. 

“Henry, I think it prudent that we separate for a little 
while. If we can survive the test of absence, without wilting, 
as it were, we may safely forego marriage, for the present 
year, at least. 

“ If we find the test of separation, irritating and tantaliz¬ 
ing, then we may consider marriage. 

“I have decided, since I saw you last, that I shall sign a 
contract with the Speakers’ Bureau, in the present Presiden¬ 
tial Campaign. 

“Iam going to the Pacific Coast for a few weeks. 

“Let us decide this matter, after the Campaign is over.” 

“Very well. I am perfectly willing to wait upon your 
good pleasure,” answered Henry. 


[ 423 ] 


CHAPTER XXII 


The Dilemma 



OU CERTAINLY covered yourself with glory in this 


I Campaign,” said Richard to Maxine, just after she 
had completed a National itinerary, in 1920. 

“You do me too much honor,” she replied. 

“You would not say that if you could hear all the praise 
and compliments, which have come to my ears, from the 
Political Committeemen, in whose districts you have spoken. 
They all tell me that you did better work than any of the 
men, who were sent into our State, during the Campaign; — 
and besides, I have some respect for my own judgment on 
such matters. 

“You are not an extremist, and you make your appeal 
very effective, by basing it on the co-ordinated, aggregated 
interests of men and women. Therein, lies your strength. 
There is nothing gained by segregating men and women, as 
though they were different classes of citizens. I am glad 
to see that after all your triumphs, plaudits and honors, 
you remain so unaffected, simple and natural. Few women, 
who enter public life, keep their modesty, dignity and 
decorum. 

“One reason why I venerate with reverence, the memory 
of my father, is because of the fact that he always retained 
his unassuming manner and dignified behavior. You know 
I have told you that he was, for many years, in public life. 


[ 424 ] 


The Dilemma 


“I recall one of his campaigns, which occurred in my 
college days. William McKinley was a candidate for election 
as President. At that time, there were quite extensive coal 
mines, which were being operated in my father’s district in 
Indiana. 

“It was a pivotal State then, as it is now, and it was 
extremely necessary to secure the vote of the coal-miners, in 
order for my father to deliver the votes to the organization, 
for which he was responsible. He was out of Congress then, 
and only took part in politics, by helping to keep his party 
in power. 

“There was a fellow, by the name of Joe Dobbs, who 
represented the coal-miners’ organization. He was a very 
practical, forceful man, — but he was uneducated, and there¬ 
fore, incapable of preparing a well-constructed, political 
speech. He knew my father, in a political way, and often 
came to see him at our house. On one of these occasions, 
father was so impressed by Dobbs’ excellent memory, that 
he decided that he would make a mighty good spell-binder. 

“So my father prepared a speech, which Joe was to 
commit to memory, and then deliver it before working-men’s 
organizations, in various parts of the country. Joe made 
good in memorizing, perfectly, the discourse, which father 
had written for him. He needed no instruction in the art of 
delivering his speech, for he was, as they say, a natural born 
talker,— with a smooth, suave, ‘gift of gab’. 

“To make a long story short, Joe made a big hit, and 
he was sent for to make speeches all over the country. He 
had a natural conceit, — the conceit of an ignorant man, of 
course, — and a buoyancy of spirits, which carried him 
through, wherever he went. In fact, the applause of the 
crowds and the adulation of the multitudes, spoiled him, so 


[ 425 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


that he was never good for anything, after that campaign 
was over. It happened that on the night before election, he 
was given a place on the program, where William McKinley, 
himself, spoke. 

“This was too much for Joe, he nearly blew up and 
busted. He sent a Rush Telegram to my father. It read: 

“ ‘me AND WILLIAM MCKINLEY SPEAKS HERE TONIGHT. JOE.' ” 

“That was funny. I trust that after having heard this 
story, I shall take warning and not lose my head over the 
generous applause which I received in this Campaign; for I 
would not want such a pleasant and satisfactory experience 
to result in wrecking my life for the future,’’ said Maxine, 
laughingly. 

“Well, to change the subject, what about the Texan,— 
my soldier rival?” Richard inquired, good-naturedly. 

“Has he lost any of his laurels, or have I lost mine?” 

“Neither of you has ever lost anything, in my estima¬ 
tion,” answered Maxine, very frankly. 

“You diplomat! You politician! And yet, I believe in 
you so implicitly, that I always think your praise sincere. 

“But seriously, what I want to know now, most, is 
whether young Strong still holds his place as my rival,” 
insistently remarked Richard. 

“Richard, you know that my interest in you was born 
first, of our compatibility of temperaments; and I have al¬ 
ways believed that if you had been a single man when I met 
you, that nothing in the universe could have kept us apart, 
because we were drawn together, not only by our comrade¬ 
ship of ideals, — but by an intensity of mutual attraction, 
which I believe few people ever experience. 

[ 426 ] 


The Dilemma 


“In fact, I think that very few natures have so much 
capacity for a true, loyally sustained, permanent affection. 

“If the Fates had decreed to us an honorable right to 
marriage, there never would have been any other man in my 
life, — after I met you. 

“But you know of the doubts, which I first expressed, 
when you suggested forcing circumstances. These doubts 
still survive and I can not clear my mind of them,” she 
protested. 

“Then, do you mean to say that you will, forever, permit 
the conventionalities of the world to deprive us of our 
greatest happiness, — a happiness to which every man and 
woman are entitled?” 

“I know you are big enough and magnanimous enough 
to understand me, when I tell you, Richard, that I sometimes 
believe, it is best for me not to marry at all. 

11 Seemingly strange tricks of the Fates have always pre¬ 
vented me from marrying. There has always been some 
insurmountable barrier, which has loomed up in everyone of 
my romances; — and put the possibility of an ethical and 
appropriate marriage, far into the back-ground. 

“I am beginning to he thankful that I have cultivated 
my natural talents, to such a degee that I can live and lead a 
useful, single life; — and even though this is a poor com¬ 
promise, — which I admit it to be, — I am growing to rely, 
more and more, for my individual happiness on the resources, 
both mental and spiritual, which I can find within myself.” 

“I have never been able to discover any Punch in a 
game of solitaire,” ejaculated Richard. 

“It is a game which lacks ‘kick’, in every sense of the 
word,” he continued. 

“I quite agree with you,” responded Maxine, “but what 
[427] 


A Warning to Wives 


is one to do ? I would rather make a compromise with my¬ 
self, — and live with myself, on peaceable and conscientious 
terms, than to repudiate the dominating Voice of the Inner 
Woman, which tells me that I must not try to erect a home 
of happiness on the shallow foundation of another woman’s 
unhappiness. Of the two compromises, I prefer to accept 
the former, — and the lesser, — because, at the very best, 
there must be some compromise in every life; otherwise, we 
should be perfectly satisfied, and there would be nothing to 
test the metal of character. I esteem it my duty to make 
the best of a difficult and trying situation,” she concluded. 

“I have always believed that a Lover, who is worthy of 
being loved, will sacrifice, for the object of his or her affec¬ 
tions, all comfort, and life itself, if necessary,” quickly 
answered Richard. 

“Yes, comfort and life if necessary, but not ideals and 
principles. I know that the still, small voice of conscience says 
to me, clearly, audibly, and distinctly: ‘You may compromise 
with yourself, without trespassing upon the rights of others, 
— but that form of compromise is not dangerous. It has to do 
only with the temporary, transitory affairs of life; but when 
you compromise by sacrificing others, and their rights, for 
your own pleasure, — you compromise your Inner Self,— 
your Divine Heritage of Immortality, — your very Soul’,” 
she added, ‘ ‘ and that, I can not do. ’ ’ 

“Yes, I know,” said Richard, apparently yielding more 
to Maxine’s point of view. “We should never urge another 
to violate conscience. No one should attempt to fix a standard 
for someone else to live by,” he said, thoughtfully. 

“I have thought, sometimes,” Maxine went on, “that 
you and I should derive our greatest satisfaction from our 

[ 428 ] 


The Dilemma 


mutual gratitude for the rich enfoldment, which has come 
to each of us, through our association. 

“Sometimes we achieve more, through the strength of 
character, which comes to us through the relinquishment of 
desire, than we ever achieve through the gratification of 
desire. If we can not realize our ideals, we can, at least, 
idealize our reals. 

“You know, Richard, that I have long thought you 
capable of filling a greater place of usefulness in the world 
than you have ever yet done.” 

“Yes, I know, and I appreciate your long-cherished 
aspirations for me, — and now that you speak of it, — I am 
reminded that Hargreaves is quite insistent that I shall be¬ 
come a candidate for the United States Senate from this 
State, when the next Senatorial election occurs. 

“He will start very soon to serve his third term in 
Congress, and he looks forward, eventually, to an appoint¬ 
ment to one of the best Ambassadorships, as he wants to 
culminate his career by officially serving the country in a 
foreign capital. He is anxious to keep the political machinery 
of his own State connected up with his affairs. He has in 
mind one of his friends, whom he wants to have succeed him 
in Congress, and to make his personal organization more 
complete, he desires that I shall be elected to the United 
States Senate. 

“But I have kept my ambition in the back-ground, be¬ 
cause I have hoped that you would consent to permit me to 
put my affairs in such order, that you and I could lead our 
own lives. 

“I am getting older, although you seem to remain per¬ 
petually young. I have felt that I wanted to devote the 

[ 429 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

remaining years of my life, in such a way as to make you 
happy. 

“I have believed that we would both be justified in 
insistently extracting from an ironical Fate, the happiness 
long denied to us, and long due to us. 

“In other words, my ambition to serve in high office, 
has been supplanted by my great desire to be with you 
always, and I, of course, realize that I can not consistently, 
— with any sense of delicacy or propriety, seek the suffrages 
of the people, if the record of any unpleasant, domestic 
episode is to take root in their memories. Besides I would 
rather have your love than to occupy the highest office in 
the world—” 

“Richard, it is all wrong that you should deny your¬ 
self a brilliant, useful career of national importance. If 
you do so, I shall be filled with regrets. I can not abide such 
a thought. 

“Your place is in the United States Senate,— where 
the influence of your work and ideals shall be far-reaching. 
There, you could put into practice and operation, through 
your numerous points of contact, many of the principles and 
good works of which we have so often talked. That would 
be a vicarious fulfilment of all our hopes and wishes and 
plans. 

“Merely because a romance, — a real heart love, — can 
not be consummated by marriage, is no reason for denying to 
it the right to bear the fruits of a rich influence. To do so, 
would be to destroy many forces for good, merely for the 
reason that they could not express themselves through con¬ 
ventional channels. 

“Now, do promise me that you will go ahead with a 
political career,” insisted Maxine. 

[430] 


Tine Dilemma 


i ‘Yes, I will consider it,— merely because it means the 
carrying out of your wishes, — and besides, it will give me, 
— if I am successful, — an opportunity to indulge myself in 
some of my pet hobbies, — a privilege which is very dear to 
a man, as he grows older. ’ ’ 

“To which of your hobbies would you devote yourself 
first?” queried Maxine. 

“Well, first of all, I would interest myself, if I followed 
my own inclinations, — in the real needs of my constituents. 
I would want them to feel the real touch of my personality. 
Knowing that I had a sympathetic point of contact well 
established, I would look to the larger things in matters of 
public policy. 

“Disarmament is now a subject which occupies much 
public attention. I would not give my influence to National 
Disarmament, unless we could have the most positive assur¬ 
ances, as a Nation, that all nations, — and not groups, or 
cliques of nations, — consented to it in good faith; and I 
should want to know, also, that their propositions, made in 
good faith, were to be well-substantiated by their national 
efforts. 

“When everybody in the world is loaded, somebody 
explodes. When nobody is loaded, nobody explodes. When 
part of the world is loaded, and part of it is unloaded,— 
those who are loaded are bound to explode upon the un¬ 
loaded. 

“Of course, so long as any nation in the world is per¬ 
mitted to maintain a policy of aggression, and spirit of con¬ 
quest, the same diplomatic privilege can not be denied to 
other nations, — although the United States will, of course, 
never adopt a policy of conquest or imperialism. 

“For my part, I want to see the United States establish 

[ 431 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


a strong organization of institutions and personnel, which 
shall make commerce and industry effective in foreign trade 
competition. I want to see an organization of political 
administration, by first organizing public opinion behind it. 

“We should build up a field of trade promotion and 
trade information in reference to our foreign trade. We 
should modify our system of domestic, economic control, so 
that it will permit American business to thrive at home and 
prosper abroad. I would not have the Government take 
over anything, which private industry is able to handle. I 
believe that the Government should give guarantees to our 
problems of communication and transportation, such as our 
railroads, steamship companies, telegraph and cable com¬ 
panies, and to all carriers, both by rail and water, which 
transport the mails. 

“Not only do I want to see the United States become the 
foremost nation in the control of world trade, but I want to 
see it become the leading nation in magnanimous practice, — 
which shall mean that it shall stand always for International 
Fair-Play. 

“You know that the British Empire maintains a very 
efficient index to the personnel of the country and its 
dominions. They go over their Empire with a fine tooth 
comb, and take the very best brains in it, for the Diplomatic 
and Consular Service. They comb the Empire the second 
time, and they take the next best brains for the British 
Navy, which constitutes their second great line of defense. 
They canvass the Empire the third time, and draft the third 
best brains into the British Army, or make school-teachers 
of them. 

“I should like to see established a National School of 
Diplomacy in Washington, D. C. where a selected body of 

[ 432 ] 


The Dilemma 


students, chosen from the keenest young minds in the 
country, after competitive tests, should receive instruction 
in Diplomatic Science, and the tactics, strategy and fine 
points of World Policies, and International Intercourse. 

“For a long time, competitive diplomacy, between and 
among nations, will continue to regulate world affairs. This 
competition will become keener, as time goes on. There will 
be cooperation, too; but the fundamentals of national policy, 
in all countries, will be determined by competition. 

“We shall need to train and organize, a corps of diplo¬ 
mats, who shall be instructed by the leading statesmen of our 
own country; and by American academic men, who have 
specialized in various branches of History and Economics. 
Those who have been previously engaged in our Diplomatic 
and Consular Service, should be called upon, to give the 
younger cadets of diplomacy the benefit of their experience. 

“The race problem of the world is becoming more com¬ 
plex. When we stop to consider that the white races con¬ 
stitute only a little more than two-fifths of the people of the 
world, — that is a serious fact with which we must reckon. 
Foremost in our minds must be the continuity and perpetua¬ 
tion of Our Republic, — the United States, and secondly, we 
must always do our part to help the white race to maintain 
world domination. There must be unity, concord and organ¬ 
ization of purpose by all the white peoples of the world. We 
must never lose sight of that fact. 

“I have sometimes thought that I would leave a con¬ 
siderable part of my fortune to establish such a school as I 
have just described; and that I would make provision to 
have a School of Diplomacy, conducted according to the 
ideals of the foremost American statesman, — by a committee 
of contemporary statesmen and a faculty to be designated, 

[ 433 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


from time to time, by the President of the United States, the 
Secretary of State, the Speaker of the House of Eepresenta- 
tives, and the Chairman of the Foreign Eelations Committee 
of the United States Senate.’’ 

“Your ideas are simply splendid,” said Maxine, enthusi¬ 
astically. 

“Now, wouldn’t it be absurd for a man of your brilliant 
mind and constructive capacity, to forego the privileges and 
honors, which could only come to him, through an official 
career, — merely because he was in love with a woman, 
marriage with whom would mean, probably, a temporary, 
political ostracism, and possibly, an ultimate retirement to a 
partially, secluded life?” 

“Well, I have told you time and again, Maxine, exactly 
what I prefer. There is no misunderstanding about that. 
It is now entirely up to you, as to the course which we shall 
adopt in the future. 

“How long do you expect to be at the Hargreaves? I 
suppose that Loyola will want to keep you with her until 
they are ready to go back to Washington,” commented 
Eichard. 

“Yes, I am going to remain until after Thanksgiving. I 
think that we shall all start East the day after. I am so 
glad that I brought Mary Ann with me. My campaign 
experiences were very interesting to her, and it was nice to 
have her along to look after me. 

“0, by the way, how is Argus? These must be wonder¬ 
ful days for him, visiting you, back in his old home, once 
more. Are you going to let him go back with us?” she 
queried. 

“Well, I don’t know about that. Eleanor seems to have 
taken an entirely different attitude toward having him at 

[ 434 ] 


The Dilemma 


home. Only yesterday, she said that there was no use of 
sending him back East. Of course, she never knew where he 
was. She has had the impression all along that he was in the 
hands of an experienced care-taker, — and, of course, he has 
been. I certainly would not like to take him away from you 
and Mary Ann. You have both become so attached to him,” 
said Richard. 

“Well, of course, he is your dog,” replied Maxine, “and 
while we do not like to give him up, at the same time, you 
were his first love, and to you, he owes his highest loyalty 
and affection, — a fact, which I believe, in his very exacting 
code of dog-ethics, he recognizes.” 

“Well, well see about it later on,” answered Richard. 
They had just finished luncheon at the Olympic Club. 
Richard was such an active member of the political com¬ 
mittee, which had been appointed to look after Maxine’s 
entertainment, that he could, with propriety, entertain her 
in public, — at least, in the best established club in town. He 
took Maxine back to the Hargreaves’ home in his high- 
powered, new coupe. 

When she arrived in her room, she found a letter from 
Henry. It read: 

Strongsville, Texas. 

November 16, 1920. 

Dear Maxine: 

I am home once more, and at present, I am tak¬ 
ing a little recreation on our peanut ranch. 

Mother had grown impatient, during my long 
absence. 

I owe to her, and my dead father, and to you, 
[435] 


A Warning to Wives 

all that I am. I felt that I should not longer 
neglect her. 

I shall return to New York the first week in 
December, so that will bring me back about the time 
of your arrival there. I am rejoicing that you 
have decided to return so soon. 

Yes, we shall talk it all over then. In the heat 
and excitement of the campaign, I had thought that 
the necessity for such continuous, hard work, would 
serve to alleviate the loneliness which I felt, after 
you left the city. But I was lonelier than I have 
ever been before, in my life, — and you say that you 
have missed me, more than ever. That is a good 
sign, in view of the fact, that you have, also, been 
strenuously occupied on a political mission. 

Now, I hope you will play awhile, and devote 
yourself to recreative pursuits. 

At the conclusion of my last month’s work, I 
realized that I must let down for awhile. I have 
done so. I am giving myself over to all the pleasures 
of home. 

The best way to enjoy a vacation, is to vacate. 
That I am doing, — greeting old neighbors and 
friends, teasing my sweet, little sister, who, you re¬ 
member, was graduated at the University of Texas 
last June. I call on my brother Frederic, every day 
at his office in town. 

He looks upon me as a real cosmopolite, because 
he has spent most of his life in this part of the 
country, never having been East of Chicago. I get 
a real “kick” out of telling him about my observa¬ 
tions and experiences. For instance, he was amazed, 

[436] 


The Dilemma 


when I told him that both of the big political parties 
distributed different sets of literature to the capi¬ 
talists and labor organizations, throughout the 
country. What was molasses for one would have 
been vinegar for the other, and vice versa, — so the 
political, publicity bureaus sent to each group of 
men such material as they believed would be 
molasses to them. One kind of literature was pre¬ 
pared for capitalists and another for laborers. Both 
booklets in our office were written by the same man. 

I learned, through one of my reporters, just 
before I left New York that the bootleggers were 
paying financial tribute to the Dry Squad, in order 
to insure full protection to their enterprise. 

I went to call on some of the girls here, who 
have been spending the past summer in Europe. 
They show their provinciality by the numerous affec¬ 
tations, which they have taken on, — by the way 
they shake hands, by their speech, and manners. 
They belong to a crowd, who have more money than 
good sense. The Paris clothes, which they brought 
home with them, are an abomination. They conceal 
very little of the form or figure. In fact, one of the 
girls, whose gown had no back, told me afterwards, 
that she had made a mistake and put it on hind side 
before. 

I am finding a great deal of time to play with 
my dog, Ginger. He is the best canine creature, 
which abides upon the earth. He is a humanitarian 
dog, too, and by the way, he is just plain dog, no 
special brand. Only the other day, he performed 

[ 437 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

what I consider to have been one of his most heroic 
feats. 

Our nearest neighbor has just had a dog sent 
to him from Tennessee. The little fellow has been 
terribly home-sick. He has refused to eat, and was 
just mourning his life away, when Ginger’s sym¬ 
pathies began to be enlisted with his forlorn, newly- 
arrived neighbor. 

Last night, Ginger took one of his own bones, 
which he had carefully hidden in the back-yard; 
placed it in his mouth, — went over to the back 
door-step, where sat his unfortunate friend, the 
cocker spaniel, and dropped the tempting, osseous 
morsel in front of Snipper’s mouth. 

I consider that to have been real, genuine hos¬ 
pitality in its most unalloyed form. 

Very recently, one of our neighbors was about 
to drown two kittens. He had taken one of the 
feline infants to a large kettle of water nearby. 
Ginger had observed him with eager interest,—then 
suddenly, he sprang from his haunches to his feet 
and ran, at break-neck speed across the yard toward 
the neighbor’s house. Once there, he grabbed the 
surviving kitten by the nape of the neck and started 
for our back door, where he just begged Aunt Sarah, 
our cook, to help him with his rescue party. So 
much for Ginger’s Reconstruction Record. 

You remember once, when we were discussing 
the slain heroes of the battlefield, that I expressed 
the opinion, that I believed that animals, as well as 
persons, had souls. Ginger’s conduct confirms me in 
that opinion. I also remember of saying, either then 

[438] 


The Dilemma 


or at some other time, when I was talking with you, 
that I did not believe that any person, or any living 
creature, can ever die, — that is, that the soul never 
loses its identity, and is immortal. 

The more I see of the good works of the Creator, 
the more do I believe that all life is perpetual. I 
do not believe that the human soul ever loses con¬ 
sciousness. We are all one with the Infinite; the 
more we love, the more Infinite do we become, until 
we reach Divinity itself. 

Just now, I feel an Infinite expansion of all that 
is best in me, and wish that I might reach out and 
absorb you, as the other seven-eighths of my Div¬ 
inity, and the eight-eighths of my Affinity. 

I was so constantly at my desk, for the last few 
months, in my New York office, that many times, at 
the end of the day, my left side ached. You may 
remember, that I once told you that my last wound, 
inflicted in the Argonne, was close to the abdomen, 
considerably below the left lung. This has bothered 
me a little, of late; but of course, I know that this is 
all due to weariness and temporary exhaustion. 
My mother wants me to go in to see my old friend, 
Doctor Scott, about it; so just to please her, I am 
going this afternoon. 

I will write you again, within the next two or 
three days, and I will see you in New York, about 
the first of December. Let me know exactly when 
you are to leave, and I will plan to meet you at the 
train, when you arrive in town. 

With my most devoted wishes for your con¬ 
tinual happiness, and my earnest prayers for the 

[ 439 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

highest good fortune which can possibly come to 
you, I am, 

Always, Dearest Maxine 

Your Faithful Henry. 


[ 440 ] 


CHAPTER XXIII 


The Vision 

Y ES,” Maxine mused, after she had read Henry’s letter, 
even his dog is like himself, — with a heart that would 
feed the world and succor humanity, with its sustenance and 
compassion. 

“Too bad, that the poor boy is so tired. Well, his mother 
will take good care of him, and he will come back to New York, 
completely rested, and ready to tackle all the big problems of a 
great editorial office. I’m sure that trouble with his side is 
only the result of over-taxing himself, and I’m so glad that 
he can have this rest. 

“The more I reflect, the more perplexing does my 
dilemma become. I do not know whether it would be con¬ 
ducive to Henry’s highest interests, if I were to marry him. 
That seven years’ seniority, I fear, would make our marriage 
unsuitable and impractical, so far as his permanent happiness 
would be concerned. I hope that I can continue to inspire 
him, with a full appreciation of his talents and future pos¬ 
sibilities, whether or not I marry him. 

“I want to see both Henry and Richard on the highest 
pinnacles of achievement. I know that I owe it to both men, to 
give them all the inspiration, which I can, which will help 
them to compete successfully with other ambitious, combative 
men, in the struggles and adventures, and contests, incidental 
to public work. 


[ 441 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


“Inevitably, Richard will reach the climax of his career, 
many years in advance of Henry. Both are fine, capable men, 
who need only a strong incentive to bring out their noblest 
efforts. 

“Henry, though young and enthusiastic, with plenty of 
optimism, has no more determination and ‘peptomism’ than 
Richard, who has retained all his strongest attributes of per¬ 
sonality and character. Physically and mentally, he has kept 
his pristine vigor. They are both capable of brilliant achieve¬ 
ments, and I count it a distinction that they honor me, by pay¬ 
ing tribute to me, for the help which they say, I have given 
them.” 

Maxine was alone, in deep meditation, trying to solve the 
problem of adjusting her life, in such a way that she could 
continue to exert an inspirational influence over both Henry 
and Richard, until they would be able to triumph in their 
careers. Richard’s ultimate success would come within a 
few short years. Henry’s gradual climb, toward the climax of 
his aspirations, would, no doubt, cover most of the period of 
Maxine’s natural life time. Maxine wanted, above all, to do 
the right thing; never had she violated the dictations of her 
sub-conscious self. 

She was thinking of the best way, by which she could 
meet, graciously and successfully, the entire situation. This 
was her first thought when she awoke in the morning, and her 
last before she slumbered at night. 

She had received Henry’s last letter on Friday morning. 
She had answered it the following day. She was looking 
forward keenly to the arrival of his next letter on Monday or 
Tuesday of the coming week. Monday and Tuesday came but 
there were no letters from Henry. 

[ 442 ] 


The Vision 


‘ 1 There must have been a delay in the mails, ’ ’ she said to 
Mary Ann. 4 ‘Surely his letter will arrive Wednesday.” 

Maxine hurried home from the Bon Ton Club, where 
Loyola Hargreaves had given a luncheon for her; only to be 
disappointed again, when she looked at her mail. 

About four o’clock Wednesday afternoon, Mrs. Har¬ 
greaves’ parlor-maid, Maria, brought her a telegram. 

Maxine opened it, rather nervously. It read: 

HENRY DIED THIS MORNING. LYMPHATIC POISONING. 

FREDERIC STRONG. 

Maxine sank back in her chair, — pale, motionless and 
stunned. 

“Call Mrs. Hargreaves and Mary Ann,” she said to 
Maria, — in a low, faint tone of voice. 

They came, and did all in their power to soothe Maxine’s 
troubled heart and grieved soul. For many days, one of them 
was always by her side. 

The shock proved to be the greatest in Maxine’s whole life. 
Even when her parents had died, she had been better pre¬ 
pared for the loss. Now, she was utterly prostrated. She ex¬ 
perienced an entire collapse; it was days before she rallied 
sufficiently to be able to go downstairs. 

Henry, the idol of her dreams! The fulfillment of her 
ideal of young manhood had gone! Henry, — her friend! 
Her soldier-boy! He was no more. No, it could not be! 

She could hear him saying, as he had said to her just 
before he left Paris for America: 

“In fact, I do not believe that anything, or anybody, 
ever dies; but I do believe that the spirits of those, who have 

[ 443 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


gone on, will always help us to fight our battles, and meet our 
Calvaries, if we will only let them. 

“I believe that they are as close to us, in point of prox¬ 
imity, as the flowers; and that we may breathe their very 
presence, if we but will. 

“I believe that they talk to us, in our thoughts, and 
express themselves, in our actions. No one is dead. No, that 
can not be.” 

Over and over again, Maxine soliloquized, concerning 
these things which Henry had said. 

And his faith had been with him to the end; for in his 
very last letter, he had expressed it again. Maxine read and 
re-read these lines: 

‘ ‘ I do not believe that the human soul ever loses conscious¬ 
ness. We are all one with the Infinite; the more we love, the 
more Infinite do we become, until we reach Divinity itself.” 

In her reveries, something always seemed to say to her: 

“Firm in the Faith he fell, and unafraid.” 

Loyola Hargreaves now proved, to a greater degree than 
ever, her loyalty to, and her love for Maxine. 

“You know, Loyola,” said Maxine, ‘‘you are so different 
from all my other friends. I always feel so natural whenever 
I am with you. Your sympathy is so genuine in the hour of 
grief and tragedy. You are always there, whenever I need 
you. 

“You remember Frances Hildreth at boarding-school; — 
well, you know, she always professed to think so much of me, 
— but as the years have gone by, she has always seemed to 
want to impress me with the fact that her interests have multi¬ 
plied to such an extent, as a consequence of the large fortune 
acquired by her husband in recent years, that she has little 

[ 444 ] 


The Vision 


time, which she can devote to her old friends. She never fails 
to give me the impression that she still thinks as much of me 
as ever, — hut at the same time, she informs me that her in¬ 
evitable absorption in her present activities prevents her from 
continuing our old-time association. 

“Only this morning, I received a letter from her;—you 
know she married Irving Bradshaw, a Wall Street man. 

“Well, in this letter, she tells me that they are now at 
Atlantic City, at the Marlborough-Blenheim; that she has 
been obliged to go there because her nerves are just frazzled 
out, as the result of her numerous social activities. She 
says that she has two French maids, and concludes her letter 
by condoling with me, because she thinks that I must find 
life, in this Western country, rather uninteresting; ‘so far 
away from the center of things, * she remarks, and then adds: 
‘I can not quite understand how a girl of your traditions 
could undertake to meet the vulgar herd, which you must have 
contacted in your public meetings in the Presidential Cam¬ 
paign.' 

“She concludes by describing further, the luxury by 
which she is surrounded, as much as to say: Of course, every 
one can not afford to have nervous prostration in Atlantic 
City, you know, — especially with the service of two French 
maids. 

“Sometimes, I really become so disgusted with Frances’ 
affectation, that I think I can no longer continue to keep up 
our long-established friendship. 

“I merely relate this incident to you, Loyola, because I 
want to illustrate, by contrast, your sincerity and heart-inter¬ 
est, as compared with her assumed, affected, patronizing pro¬ 
fession of friendship for me. 

“My heart is now full of gratitude for your devotion, 
[445] 


A Warning to Wives 

during this trying, heart-rending period in my life. I feel 
that you are neglecting your own interests to look after me, 
— especially, since you have postponed going back to Wash¬ 
ington; because that will make it necessary for Worthington 
to go alone, and he depends upon you so much. 

“I certainly must pull myself together, and bring my¬ 
self out of this heart-sorrow. I feel so selfish in imposing my 
grief upon you, as I have been doing.’’ 

“Why, Maxine!” exclaimed Mrs. Hargreaves. “I con¬ 
sider it a privilege to have you in my home, and to be able 
to be of some service to you. 

“Indeed, I would have been very much worried, if you 
had been anywhere else in the world, when this grief over¬ 
took you. Mary Ann is almost as overcome by your situation, 
as you are yourself. She feels so deeply everything which 
touches, or affects you. I want you to make yourself perfectly 
comfortable, and feel entirely at ease, — just as you would do 
in your own home, and I want you to stay here until you feel 
like yourself again. 

‘ 1 Now, there,— be good to yourself, and try to make your¬ 
self as contented as possible. In that way, you will make me 
happy,” said Loyola, as she patted Maxine’s cheek. “Bless 
her heart! It’s just a shame that you had to have such a 
trying experience, but I know that your splendid philosophy 
of life is going to stand by you, and that your spiritual vision 
will help you to see that everything is for the best.” 

While Loyola and Maxine were having this chat, Maria 
brought in afternoon tea; and the two friends, who had met 
many years before in the class-room of the Miss Maxwells’ 
School, supped their tea and talked to each other of the long 
ago. 


[ 446 ] 


The Vision 


“Let me fill your cup again. It will be a long time before 
dinner/’ said Loyola. 

“Well, if you will dilute it with plenty of hot water; you 
know I must save my nerves right now. ’ ’ 

Just at this instant, Loyola and Maxine were interrupted 
by Winfield Hargreaves, four years of age, the youngest of 
the Hargreaves’ four children. He came rushing into the 
room exclaiming, “Is it time for me to start to meet my 
father?” 

“No, not yet,” answered his mother. “Not for half an 
hour.” 

As Mrs. Hargreaves turned to speak to her young son, she 
observed that his kilt skirt, which he had worn when he left 
the house was missing. “Why, Laddie Hargreaves,” she 
exclaimed. “What have you done with your Scotch plaid 
skirt?” 

Laddie began to wiggle, and offered the explanation that 
Donald Reames, who lived next door, and who had recently 
donned trousers, had been making fun of him. 

* ‘ He called me a baby, a big baby, and he said that he did 
not want to play with me, unless I would wear trousers like 
big men.” 

“Well, what did you do with your skirt?” queried 
Laddie’s mother. 

“I dunno. Donald took it. I don’t know where he 
put it.” 

A thorough search revealed, that Laddie’s kilt skirt was 
buried beneath a pile of stones, near the flower-beds, the two 
youngsters having evidently concluded, that this was the only 
safe and sure way to plan matters, so that Laddie, in future, 
would not be embarrassed by skirts, which Donald said made 
him look like a “sissy.” 


[ 447 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


After Laddie went to meet his father, little Patricia 
Hargreaves, who was two years older than her brother, came 
into the room. 

‘ 1 Is Lammie here ? ’ ’ she inquired, in a low, sweet, childish 
voice. 

“Net yet,” her mother said. “Laddie has just gone to 
meet him.” 

The Worthington-Hargreaves’ home had been, from the 
first, built on a very secure foundation of loyalty, under¬ 
standing and love. It radiated an atmosphere, which was as 
sweet and refreshing, as the fragrance of summer flowers, and 
as exhilarating as a sudden breeze of ozone on a sultry day. 

There was a spirit of naturalness in the Hargreaves 
family, which made life a joy, not only to the Hargreaves 
themselves, but to those who had the privilege of sharing their 
generous hospitality. 

Loyola Hargreaves administered the affairs of her house¬ 
hold in a very quiet manner. She generally said little, but 
she used her brains much. She understood Humphrey Har¬ 
greaves, and he understood her. 

In his political life, he found that many of his old-time 
women friends could be very useful to him. Loyola had always 
encouraged him in a policy of continuing all of his old friend¬ 
ships. In fact, she always saw to it at Christmas time, that 
each of the girls and women, who had helped to promote her 
husband’s interests, received a book, or a box of candy, or 
some other suitable remembrance. Loyola was so tolerant and 
diplomatic, in the management of her husband, that he never 
violated her confidence. 

As soon as Maxine was ready to receive him, Richard 
came to call on her in the Hargreaves’ home. She told him 
frankly the cause of her illness. He listened sympathetically. 


The Vision 


He had too big a nature not to comprehend the situation in its 
fullness. He was genuinely sorry for Maxine. He saw, — he 
could not escape knowing, that Maxine’s soul had been pierced 
to the very marrow. He was deeply grieved that she must 
undergo this tragic experience. 

For many weeks, Maxine was bewildered, — perplexed, 
confused and troubled. Where was her place now? Should 
she, in her loneliness, seek refuge and shelter in Richard 
Radcliffe’s big soul? Should she, at last, after all her resist¬ 
ance to the compromising temptation which confronted her, 
acquiesce to Richard’s plans for putting his affairs in order, 
so that she could become his wife? Or should she, merely as 
his dear friend, urge him and inspire him to go on with his 
public career, giving to him such assistance as her abilities 
would warrant, in the formation of plans for his election to 
public office? 

Which would prove to be the best for her generous, un¬ 
selfish and magnanimous friend, who had proven so recently, 
beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he so perfectly understood 
her and loved her, — even though she had experienced such 
real heart-grief, because of the passing to another life, of the 
man whom Richard had looked upon as his rival? 

Richard was leaving the matter entirely with Maxine 
now, with no forced attempt to influence or control her 
decision. 

She, herself, was trusting to the Great Giver of All Good, 
to help her to make an all-wise determination. She was pray¬ 
ing, continually, for some Divine influence or inspiration, to 
enter her consciousness, which would enable her to make the 
decision which would be best for Richard, for Eleanor, and 
for herself. 

As she fell asleep one evening, after her thoughts had 
[449] 




A Warning to Wives 

been concentrated on the grave problem before her, — she saw, 
in her dream, the form of a young man. As he approached 
Maxine, in this Land of Dreams, she recognized him. It was 
Henry. He spoke to her, saying: 

“You have grieved too much for me. You have shed too 
many tears. In Paradise, we know not tears. There is 
nothing about this thing called death, which we should fear. 
It is only the opening door to more abundant life. 

“Do not think it was because I had neglected myself in 
any way, that I was called to that which seems to you a most 
untimely fate. 

“No; my father, who has been in the Celestial world 
for many years, wanted to talk with me, face to face. He 
wanted me to work with him here, on a most important, 
spiritual mission, involving the welfare of all mankind. 

“He did not mean to call me quite so soon; but Celestial 
voices are very powerful; powerful, but not loud or coarse. A 
mere whisper from them has the strength of ethereal penetra¬ 
tion, which equals that of hundreds of earthly voices. The 
resonance of a Heavenly vocal sound has a million times the 
volume of a severe clap of thunder; and yet, it is sweet and 
musical. The sympathetic vibration is very strong, when 
anyone here speaks to one upon the earth, — especially, to 
one whom he loves. The vibration is intensified in proportion 
to the degree of love which exists between the two. 

“A call from here must be subdued, or it will bring many 
of our loved ones to us too soon, — too suddenly, — with too 
little preparation. But anyone here can call a loved one on 
the earth at will. The wisdom of the Heavenly inhabitants is 
so superior to that of the inhabitants of the earth, that they 
exercise their power unselfishly, — only, when it is to accom- 

[ 450 ] 


The Vision 

plish something, which shall help to carry out some part of 
the Divine plan. 

“Now, Maxine, I know all that you are enduring in your 
mental distress, and anguish of soul. Do not be afraid. Hold 
to thy faith. Let the rod and staff of the Almighty comfort 
thee. All will be well. ‘Consider the lilies of the field; they 
toil not, neither do they spin, yet Solomon in all his glory, was 
not arrayed like one of these/ Remember the Scriptural 
saying: ‘Even the very hairs of your head are numbered/ 
‘Not a sparrow falleth to the ground but that He knoweth/ 
‘If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatso¬ 
ever ye will, and it shall be done unto you/ ‘I will not leave 
you desolate; I will come unto you/ 

“I have seen many of my Buddies and Pals, who fell in 
the war. They were all called by a Celestial Patriarch, whose 
voice is more powerful than the sound of the heaviest cannon. 
But they were not called, until they were needed here to help 
from this side; to shorten the duration of the terrible conflict. 
They inspired from here their old-time fighting comrades. 
They are all happy here, and they help their grieved ones on 
earth to bear their burdens, and finally, to eliminate them. 

“Never question, Maxine, the Wisdom of the All-Power¬ 
ful. You know that the mechanism of a complicated instru¬ 
ment, or intricate invention, is beyond the power of many 
earthly people to comprehend. Such machines are, likewise, 
unintelligible in their construction to the brightest of chil¬ 
dren. You know we should not expect a child to understand 
the mechanical parts of a telephone, or telegraph instrument; 
and so, by comparison, the Plan of the Universe is just as 
incomprehensible to older people. Let thy heart be filled with 
trust. 

“I must go now. I will not come to you again, or make 
[451] 


A Warning to Wives 

myself manifest to you, unless you summon me, voluntarily, 
by a Soul-Call. : ” 

When Maxine awoke from her slumbers, she was almost 
frightened, for a moment. She felt that she had contacted 
another world. She seemed to detect, as she awoke, the fra¬ 
grance of flowers, — not of the earth, — but spiritual flowers, 
the perfume of which was intoxicatingly enchanting. 

While she reflected upon her dream, a calm, soothing, 
repose of soul seemed to come over her, and take possession 
of her spirits. From this time, her mental attitude became 
more cheerful. She was more inclined to resume her interest 
in every day events. 

That very day, she accepted an invitation to have luncheon 
with Richard, at the Olympic Club. He had been so tender, 
patient and considerate, during her most grief-stricken days, 
that she realized now, that it was her duty, whenever she was 
in his presence, to reflect only cheerfulness. 

Under the stimulation of his ready wit, keen humor, and 
brilliant conversation, — which was always in happy and 
interesting vein, Maxine really enjoyed herself once more. 

Several days after this, she took a long drive with Richard 
on the Olympic Highway, and once more, he broached the 
subject of her final decision, in regard to a permanent union 
between them. Maxine was still in a perplexed state of mind. 
If she were to say the words, which would influence Richard 
to take the necessary steps, to make himself a free man, then, 
she feared that he must needs forego his public career. This 
would be depriving him of the opportunity to serve in the 
place in the world, where he could exercise his greatest use¬ 
fulness. From day to day, it became increasingly difficult for 
her to formulate a practical, feasible plan, which would con¬ 
form to her ethical standards. Truly, she was sorely tried. 

[452] 


The Vision 


“Richard,” she said, in her usual, sweet voice, “you 
know that I Avant to do whatever is best for you. I am 
not yet sure, as to what I really ought to do. I have thought 
of it, night and day. I have been perplexed beyond measure; 

— but it has come over me, of late, that if we only trust to 
the Great Doer of All Good Deeds, we shall both be guided by 
the unvarying Law of Right and Justice, which shall, eventu¬ 
ally, clarify our vision, and lead us to peace of mind, and our 
greatest happiness. We can only rest matters there.” 

Richard was mildly acquiescent to this proposed state of 
affairs. 

“Maxine,” he said, “whether or not I can ever claim you 
as my wife, rests with you; but, however matters may term¬ 
inate, you have proven yourself, at all times, my highest ideal, 

— my greatest joy in life. You have preserved my faith in all 
that is Good and True and Real. 

“Whatever my fate, I want you to know, that since we 
have known each other, you have made your spirit manifest in 
every good work, which I have accomplished. 

“Henceforth, too, every voluntary action, which I per¬ 
form, shall be blessed with the impetus of your unselfish spirit, 
and with the power of your great goodness; for, in talking 
with you, and knowing you, I feel that I have known and 
talked with angels.” 

That afternoon, after Richard took her back to the Har¬ 
greaves ’ home, she felt so much fatigued, from her day’s 
exertion, that she decided that she would go to her room to 
indulge herself in a little rest before dinner. 

As she reposed herself in her soft, blue, Cashmere tea- 
gown, on the inviting pillows, and the sun came streaming 
through the windows, she felt the enticing, enchanting touches 

[ 453 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


of an approaching, peaceful sleep. She thought of her dream, 
in which Henry had come to her. 

“I would like to dream of him once more. His message 
was so soothing and comforting. * ’ Then she remembered that 
he had said that he would not come to her again, in her 
slumbers, unless she summoned him by a Soul-Call. As she 
yielded her consciousness to the seductive influences of sleep, 
her last thought was of Henry. 

Maxine Marling, where are you in your dreams ? Do you 
hear the strains of Celestial music on Heavenly harps, whose 
strings are one thousand times finer than those of any musical 
instruments on the earth? 

Who are those angels, dressed in shimmering gowns? 
They seem to represent Hope and Purity and Justice and 
Love. Their motions are like the waves of ether, — a compli¬ 
cation of aerial movements. Their dance is an ingenious, fan¬ 
tastical invention, in which every motion is in perfect rhythm 
and concord, with the measured, leaping, tripping, Divine 
music. As they wind their graceful, lithe, pliant, Heavenly 
figures, first one way, and then the other, the Celestial Light 
illumines their faces with a transcendent glow, and they smile 
upon the earth, as a benediction. 

At the climax of their brilliant, dazzling appearance, a 
choir of youthful voices joins them, in their final dance. The 
volume of their voices is so powerful that it would penetrate 
to the earth, itself, if it were not for the material cloud of 
selfishness and sensuality, the clamorous noises and tumultuous 
confusion, which reign over all earthly places. 

There is a group of merry, happy children, with laughing 
faces. They are little cherubs, who fly through the air with 
rapid graceful motions and high velocity. They welcome 
newly-arrived spirits, as they enter the Kingdom of Heaven. 

[ 454 ] 


The Vision 


They are descending in their flight. One of them an 
angelic, little girl, taps Henry Strong on the shoulder, and 
summons him to go with her to welcome a beautiful friend of 
his, who has just come into the Heavenly sphere. Henry turns 
and follows the child, exclaiming, as he does so: 

1 ‘And a little child shall lead them. ,, 

When Mary Ann went to call Maxine to dinner, she 
found her in a deep, still, silent slumber, from which she 
never awoke. 

The announcement of her passing, was telephoned by 
Maria, to the Radcliffe residence in Mount Olympic. Eleanor 
went into the library to tell Richard that Maxine Marling had 

just died. 

Argus, who was sitting by the fire-place, near his master’s 
side, jumped up and put his head, affectionately, in Richard’s 
lap. His acutely developed canine intuition told him, un¬ 
mistakably, that his master was in trouble, and he wanted to 
be the first to pour out the sympathy of his strong, mighty 
heart. 

For days, Richard Radcliffe went about with bowed head, 
— a sad, solemn, figure, occupied in deep retrospection. 

A few days after Maxine’s remains had been sent, in 
charge of Mary Ann, back to Cortland, New York, Richard 
was absorbed in reverential reverie, in front of the fire-place 
again. 

Eleanor pushed back the portieres and stepped softly and 
quietly into the room. She went to her husband’s side, and 
said: 

“Richard, you have not thought that I knew. I did. I 
understand. I realize more than I ever have before. I know 
all that you are suffering. I know that I have been, at times, 

[ 455 ] 


A Warning to Wives 

cold and unresponsive, when yon needed close, sympathetic 
companionship. 

“I know that our differences, are more temperamental 
and psychological than they are differences of the heart. 

i ‘ I know that the one whom you have lost had that quick 
powerful, spontaneous understanding, which made you one 
with her. I know that she had a tolerance, which all women 
should have. 

“Iam going to try from now on, as best I can, to take her 
place, — to be to you that which I have never been before, — a 
tolerant spirit, — less self-centered than in the past. 

“I am going to try to make up to you for all the years, 
when I was trying to be a good, dutiful wife, but did not 
know how. ,, 

“Eleanor,” said Richard, “you have restored to me that 
beautiful ideal of yourself, which I cherished so sacredly, 
eighteen years ago, on that eventful, June day, when you 
became my loving, trustful bride. I am more grateful than 
you know. There are so many lessons, which we must all 
learn. If we would all have life, and have it more abundantly, 
we must get more Life through Love.” 

Then he reached forward his right hand, in which he 
pressed, very closely, that of Eleanor. As they looked into 
each other’s eyes, they could read only serenity and peace and 
sweetness and Divinity. 

During the next United States Senatorial contest, Richard 
Radcliffe was elected to the United States Senate, by an over¬ 
whelming majority; and his friends all predicted for him a 
worthy and brilliant career. 

Maxine left an estate, which aggregated about one hun¬ 
dred forty thousand dollars, — fifty thousand of which, she 

[456] 


The Vision 


bequeathed to Mary Ann. The furnishings of her apartment, 
silver, jewelry, and other personal possessions, she divided 
among her relatives, and a few of her most intimate women 
friends. There were many keep-sakes and treasures be¬ 
queathed to Loyola Hargreaves and Mary Ann. The re¬ 
mainder of her estate, which comprised about ninety thousand 
dollars, she had bequeathed in her will, before she left New 
York, to be divided, equally among six beneficiaries,— her 
two brothers, Loyola Hargreaves, the Long Island Orthopaedic 
Hospital for Children, Henry and Richard. 

She made the proviso that if any one of her beneficiaries 
should be deceased, at the time of her death, that his or her 
portion of the estate, should be divided, equally, among the 
other beneficiaries. 

As soon as Loyola Hargreaves and Richard received their 
legacies, they made an agreement to found two very worthy 
memorials to Maxine. Loyola endowed a ward in the Chil¬ 
dren’s Hospital of Mount Olympic, and Richard created a 
permanent fund for the use of the National Committee of 
Americanization, in a well-known patriotic organization. 

Richard suggested that these lines from Owen Meredith 
should be inscribed on the door of the Maxine Marling Founda¬ 
tion Section of the Long Island Orthopaedic Hospital: 

“No life can be pure in its purpose; 

And strong in its strife; 

And all life not become 

Purer and stronger thereby; 

The army of martyrs who stand by the throne; 

And gaze into the face, which makes glorious their own 

Know this surely at last: 

Honest love, honest sorrow, honest hope for the day 
[457] 


A Warning to Wives 


Honest work for the morrow; 

Are these worth nothing more than the lives they make 
weary 

The hearts they have saddened; the souls they have made 
dreary; 

Hark! the seven-fold heavens to the voice of the spirit echo 

He that overcometh shall all things inherit.” 

Richard Radcliffe’s highest purpose was to carry out in 
his public career the splendid ideals which he and Maxine had 
cherished together. These ideals were in perfect harmony and 
accord with those of that great Chieftain of our present 
Reconstruction Period, our deceased President, whose reliance 
upon spiritual guidance made him the man that he was. 

Just as the influence of the right woman was sent by an 
All Wise Providence into the life of Richard Radcliife, so did 
God give the right help-meet and wife to our departed 
President. 

The intellectual and spiritual attributes of Florence 
Kling Harding were important factors in the ultimate success 
and achievements of our distinguished, untimely stricken 
President. 

Would that there were more such women whose highest 
purpose in life would be to contribute their most vital energies 
to the highest interests of their husbands. This influence 
would make for better daughters; better sons; better hus¬ 
bands ; better homes; a better, more lasting and imperishable 
United States of America. 

Warren G. Harding, our Pilot during two years and five 
months of progressive, political history brought forth our best 
standards of patriotism. He did not overlook our defects; 
neither did he magnify our excellencies. 


[ 458 ] 


The Vision 


"With clarified vision he analyzed the pulse and purpose 
and duty of the United States of America; as illustrated by 
one of his last public addresses, in which he said: 

‘ 4 I tell you, my countrymen, the world needs more of the 
Christ; the world needs the spirit of the Man of Nazareth. If 
we could bring into the relationships of humanity, among our¬ 
selves and among the nations of the earth, the brotherhood 
that was taught by the Christ we would have a restored 
w'orld; we would have little or none of war, and we would 
have a new hope for humanity throughout the globe. There 
never was a greater lesson taught than that of the Golden 
Rule. If we could have that one faithfully observed, I would 
be willing to wipe out the remainder of the complaints. 

44 1 should like to say further that if we are going to make 
of this America of ours all that the fathers sought, if we are 
going to make it true to the institutions for which they 
builded, we must continue to maintain religious liberty quite 
as well as civil and human liberty. As you remember, we 
builded on the foundation of civil liberty, and we capped that 
with the stone of human liberty and the third fundamental 
was religious liberty. The United States never can afford to 
deny religious freedom in this republic of ours. 

4 4 One more thought: I should like to have America a little 
more earnest and thoroughly committed in its religious devo¬ 
tion. We were more religious one hundred years ago, or even 
fifty years ago, than we are today. We have been getting too 
far away from the spiritual and too much absorbed in our 
material existence. It tends to make us a sordid people. The 
World War lifted us out of a rut. We found ourselves con¬ 
secrated to the defense of the republic and fighting for our 
ideal of civilization, and we in America were put on a higher 
plane. But when the war was ended we started to drift back, 

[ 459 ] 


A Warning to Wives 


thinking only of our selfish pursuits. I tell you, my country¬ 
men, that we can never be the ideal republic unless we have 
great ideals to pursue and know something of the spiritual as 
well as the material life. 

“That is one of the reasons I have been so zealous in the 
last few weeks in trying to have our country committed to 
something more of international helpfulness, so that it may 
be ready to play its part in the uplift of the world and in the 
movement to prevent in the future conflicts among the na¬ 
tions. I think that is an ideal worth pursuing. So long as we 
have something of that kind to think about and to strive for 
and to inspire us to go on, I know we are going to be a better 
people than we are when we occupy ourselves merely in dig¬ 
ging, digging, digging for the dollar. There is something else 
in life than that, my countrymen, to think about. I do not 
underpraise the desirability of material good fortune. You 
must be able to subsist before you can begin to aspire. I 
should like to have material good fortune be the portion of 
every man and woman in America, but I do not choose ma¬ 
terial good fortune alone. 

“One of the troubles with the world today is that it is 
torn with suspicion and hate. Europe is in a condition of 
feverish restlessness and is feeling the effects of the poison 
engendered by old-time passions, envies and rivalries, so that 
one people will not trust another. Would it not be better if 
somehow we could bring into the lives of those nations the 
spirit of Him whom the Father gave for the salvation of men, 
and exerted ourselves to spread brotherhood and new trust 
and new confidence among peoples, so that they may live in 
that fraternity which tends to solidify and cement together 
mankind ? I should like more of fraternity amongst ourselves 
in the United States; I should like more of fraternity amongst 

[ 460 ] 


The Vision 


the nations of the world, and if we apply the Golden Rule, 
about which none of you will dispute, for we all believe in it 
and admire it—and the only trouble is we do not practice it 
as we believe it—if we could bring the Golden Rule into 
every phase of American life, we would be the happiest 
people in the world. 

* 1 There would be no injustice to complain of, there would 
be no hate and no rivalry, there would be no industrial con¬ 
flicts, but human beings would live among their fellows as 
they would like to be lived with. That would bring a state of 
blessedness to mankind.’’ 

In front of the fireplace, in his apartment, in Washington 
Richard Radcliffe sat reading this spiritual Harding classic 
of patriotism. To him it was an emblem of the Paradise 
to come. When he had laid the paper aside, he closed his eyes 
in reverential attitude toward his heaven-called Chief; and, 
then he indulged in one of his habitual reveries. In these 
reflections Richard always looked upon the spirit of Maxine 
Marling as the link which connected himself with God. 


[ 461 ] 

























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